


The Cottage

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-10-09 04:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17399864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: Everyone knew of the dark creatures that were rumored to lurk in the forest, the mystical elements that cast a foreboding veil over every cluster of trees, every sweeping branch and quivering leaf. The forest was quiet in the way fear was quiet. A silence one felt in their bones as it thundered in their ears from the pounding of their heart.To Emma Swan though, the quiet of the forest wasn’t that of fear, but of tranquility. She felt no foreboding in the way the trees swayed, even on windless days, or the shrouds of fog that collected along its floor. Emma was fascinated by the forest, always had been, but had never set foot across its border. She had enough prejudice against her from the village as it was, and the pull of the pines and sweet berries she could make out from the boundary line wasn’t enough to warrant more consternation from her neighbors.The cottage on the edge of the tree line was, though.





	1. The Cottage

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a I’m-sick-in-bed drabble inspired by a post from @write-it-motherfuckers on Tumblr. I have no posting schedule for this, and plan to post sections as they come to me. I hope you'll enjoy each morsel as the muse provides them!

* * *

 

The people in the village thought her insane for purchasing the cottage; not that they didn’t already think her insane. She’d always been one step off of the norm, keeping to herself for the most part and seeing the world through a lens no one else seemed to be interested in viewing. A lens that let her see the cottage in a way that, perhaps, no other ever had before. Situated right on the edge of the forest, the quaint little cottage had been empty for quite some time, and for good reason.

No one dared go near the forest.

Everyone knew of the dark creatures that were rumored to lurk there, the mystical elements that cast a foreboding veil over every cluster of trees, every sweeping branch and quivering leaf. The forest was quiet in the way fear was quiet. A silence one felt in their bones as it thundered in their ears from the pounding of their heart. Entering the forest was something even the brave dared not consider in order to boast of. No one in the village had ever set foot beyond the tree line, nor had she, but the forest had never affected her as it had the other villagers.

To Emma Swan, the quiet of the forest wasn’t that of fear, but of tranquility. She felt no foreboding in the way the trees swayed, even on windless days, or the shrouds of fog that collected along its floor. In the swirls of mist she saw the beauty of refracted sunlight as it streamed through the canopy above, in the same way she found intrigue in the chitters and snaps that sounded from its depths, though no animal had ever made itself known.

Emma was fascinated by the forest, always had been, but had never set foot across its border. She had enough prejudice against her from the village as it was, and the pull of the pines and sweet berries she could make out from the boundary line wasn’t enough to warrant more consternation from her neighbors.

The cottage was, though.

Abandoned homes weren’t unusual in their village. People took any opportunity they could to leave the area, even if that opportunity required that they do so at a moment’s notice. Not all vacancies were due to the promise of better, brighter futures, though. Some folks simply… vanished. Like those who had once inhabited the cottage.

It had taken Emma years to save up the funds required to purchase the cottage from the village elders; even if it was priced far below its value, given its location. They had tried to dissuade her, and at one point she’d feared they would flat refuse to sell the property to her, or to anyone else. Asking for a night to consider her proposal, she’d spent those long hours in the gardens of the cottage, wishing and hoping for the council’s approval. Envisioning what she would make of the home if she was granted the honor of becoming its newest owner. Not that such a place could ever be _owned_ , not truly. The cottage might fall under the purview of the village borders, but Emma knew, she could sense the truth.

The cottage belonged to the forest.

During those long hours, she hadn’t simply cast her dreams to the fates, she’d been petitioning the true powers behind the cottage’s proprietorship. Any one passing by would have thought her a crazy person for the way she’d rambled aloud with all her plans for the property, to say nothing of her madness for being so close to the forest at night. Her enthusiasm over the hopeful possibilities her words wove through the atmosphere around her had remained even as her eyes and body became heavy with fatigue. Knowing she hadn’t had the energy to trek back to her lodgings within the village proper, Emma had nestled herself onto the moss covered stone bench, located in the back gardens with a perfect view of the forest beyond the garden archway.

Awakening the next morning had been a startling experience. Not because she’d woken up in the garden, and realized she’d spent the whole of the night just yards away from the archway that connected the cottage to the forest, but because… she hadn’t. The dingy walls of her hovel had loomed oppressively around her as she attempted to blink away the fog of sleep in order to recall how she’d gotten there. Pulling back her threadbare covers had revealed a layer of warmth, provided by a magnificent coat of black leather, embroidered with fine heavy thread and other embellishments, the likes of which she’d never seen before.

A note was found tucked away in one of the red leather trimmed pockets, which simply read:

_You should take greater care, love. The forest can carry quite a chill at night. Something you’ll have to mind if you are to be our neighbor._

There was no name to accompany the elegantly scrawled message, no way of knowing who the coat belonged to, and who it was that had carried her back to her bed. No. They couldn’t have carried her all that way. It was much too far. Surely, she had been brought by cart or mule? When she held up the fine leather to examine its craftsmanship more closely, the scent of its unique signature filled her sinuses and brought forth a faint memory from the night before. A memory of strong arms cradling her against a hard chest. The contradiction of pine and salt, sea and earth, with notes of leather and masculinity all wrapped her in a blanket of security as a steady gait rocked her back into oblivion. A sharp knock at her door pulled Emma from her memory. Another message was delivered into her hands with the news she’d hoped and prayed for.

The cottage was hers.

No assistance had been offered in transporting her belongings, not that she had many, but it hadn’t mattered. Emma’s jubilation had made light work of the toil, and once the key had turned in the lock, and the front door swung wide for the first time in decades, any sense of lacking she may have felt was quickly dismissed by the impossible wealth of possessions that greeted her.

Emma stood just outside the threshold of her new home, slack jawed with wide eyes at the sight before her. Furnishings of stunning quality, with no evidence of any decay from the passage of time they had to have endured, filled the cottage. Lush carpets covered the stone floors. A comfortable settee sat in front of the fireplace, flanked by chairs upholstered in the same soft yet sturdy fabric. Not a speck of dust could be seen, not a piece of debris or corner cobweb defaced the property. Despite the distinct lack of staleness in the air, Emma wasted no time throwing open the large windows at the back of the house and swinging the back door as wide as the front to allow the breeze from the forest entrance.

Each room offered new gifts. Items of fine quality and craftsmanship - without being ill placed in the quiet humility of the cottage - decorated every corner of her home. Emma couldn’t help but laugh and spin about in her excitement, a smile she’d only ever worn in correlation with the cottage adorned her lips before she caught the lower one between her teeth.

Who could have done this?

A gust swept through from the back of the house, forcing a previously overlooked folded piece of parchment from the mantle. It fluttered on the swirling breeze before falling open when it came to rest on the floor in front of the hearth. Emma could see the same elegant scrawl that had penned the previous note flowed upon it. With trembling hands, whether from the adrenaline of excitement or something else, she couldn’t say, she lifted the missive from the floor.

_I felt a housewarming gift was in order. I hope you find everything to your liking, but if not, please feel free to place whatever might displease you on the bench in the back gardens, and it shall be removed from the premise for you._

_Welcome home, love. I hope you’ll be happy here._

_A word of advice, though… Best to not enter the forest through the archway, or stray too close to it at night._

_Affectionately,_

_Your New Neighbor_


	2. The Archway

The fragrant aroma of herbs and yeast filled the cottage. After putting away her meager belongings, Emma wasted no time in preparing a loaf of bread as a thank you to her kind neighbor and benefactor. Wrapped in a length of the finest cloth she owned, the bread was placed in a basket with a jar of her blackberry jam and set on the bench in the garden, the handsome leather coat draped along side it with a fresh note tucked in its pocket.

_Good Sir,_

_Your kindness is more than I deserve, but one for which I shall be forever grateful. There is nothing within the cottage that displeases me, for how could it? It was all obviously chosen with the greatest of care and reflection._

_This meager gift can in no way express my full gratitude, nor does it compare in the grandeur and scope of your gifts, but I hope you will accept it with my humble thanks. Not only for the cottage and all its fine furnishings, but for the use of your exquisite coat as well._

_I shall heed your warning of the archway, though I cannot deny the temptation I feel to explore the wonder of the forest now that it is so close… and inhabits such a kind and generous neighbor._

_Perhaps, you would care to come for tea sometime? You are most welcome at the cottage whenever you should wish to accept the invitation._

_Yours truly,_

_Emma Swan_

It was nearly twilight when Emma deposited the items on the bench. In the last fragments of daylight’s fading glow, she surveyed the back garden with a list of tasks she planned to accomplished there. A section for herbs, one for vegetables, another for berry bushes, and a lovely expanse for flowers along the fence line. Her hands tested the quality of the soil, rich and aromatic in its pungent wealth of nutrients. Dusting off her fingertips, she examined the fence of twined wicker and found it to be in good repair. 

Thin vines wound and laced their way over and around the gnarled branches of the cross posts, outlining the garden’s perimeter. Small buds adorned their willowy expanse, and Emma wondered with eager anticipation what sort of foliage or fruit the promised bundles might offer. Her fingers glided gently along their trail, her eyes continuing to adjust to the ever increasing darkness creeping into the garden, until she found herself before the archway. Curiously, none of the vines here held any buds.

Emma stepped closer to examine this peculiar phenomenon, the barren ropes barely visible against the wicker trellis in the moonlight. A rush of cold wind blew through the archway, sending a chill over her entire body, and causing her to step back with a gasp. Awareness skittered across her skin, but not with any sort of fright or foreboding, more like a gentle warning or loving reprimand. A reminder to heed her neighbor’s words about drawing too closely to the archway at night.

Torn as she was in her desires, Emma chose to honor her neighbor over her own curiosities. It wouldn’t do to show such disrespect to his kindness on her first night there. She took another step back, then another, before turning back toward the cottage. Another gust swept past her, this one slightly warmer against her skin with notes similar to those of the leather coat mixed in its redolence. Casting one last look over her shoulder, Emma felt certain she saw the shadowy image of a man before the figure stepped aside, out of the frame of the archway. Or… perhaps it was simply a trick of the light.

~/~

The chime at her window laughed and sang softly on the night breeze, clinking its crystallized melody through the dark garden. He watched her for a few moments through the wavy glass while she slept. Her hair fanned out like rays of sunshine over her pillow, and her complexion glowed, soft and creamy in the moonlight. What colors filled her head as she dreamt, he wondered. What splendor did she create within her mind as her eyelids hid those glittering emeralds behind them? Was she dreaming of the fantasy she’d spun in the garden during the night past? A fantasy she now had the power to make real? Was she grabbing hold of the life she was always meant to live in those wild depths of her imagination, now that she had the means by which to do so?

Did she dream of him?

He shook his head at that thought. Best not to dwell on such things, or to linger too long at her window. Her curiosity had already brought her to a precarious precipice earlier, and it would not do for him to give her anymore motivation in her compulsions. Nor he in his for that matter.

Collecting the items she’d left for him, he made his way back to the archway. He’d return the basket and cloth before daybreak, and that would be the end of things. No lingering threads to knot, no further purpose to bring him back to the cottage now that it was in the proper hands. 

Before making his exit, he set the basket at his feet and swung his great coat over his shoulders. A gentle fluttering in his periphery caught his attention, and he plucked the falling parchment from the air with reflexes that would betray his nature. Notes of honeysuckle danced on his tongue when he unfurled the delicate paper, perfumed by the woman’s natural essence of florals and herbs. 

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and a melancholy ache swirled in his chest as he read her words of both gratitude and unworthiness. The last line, however, had him cursing under his breath. 

_You are most welcome at the cottage whenever you should wish to accept the invitation._

_Bloody hell…_ The lass had no idea what she had just done.


	3. The Vow

_You must take her. There is no one else we would ever entrust her to. Watch over her, Killian. Protect her. Keep the cottage under your care until she is able to claim it. Swear to us you’ll watch over her until that day. Let it not just be a command. Give us your vow._

_You have my vow._

He had done his duty; fulfilled both command and vow as he watched her grow from afar. She had flourished in her youth, helped along with the love of the spinster and two nieces that he had charged in raising her. They were gone now, though. The young women had moved on to bright futures in other lands while she was still but a child, then the spinster had left by more mortal means when the lass had been a mere sixteen.

That’s when he’d been pressed to watch over her more closely. Compelled by his vow and the command on his name to see to it she reached maturity so she could take claim over that which was rightfully hers. He feared it would be difficult, limited as he was in the way he was able to interact with the Mortal Realm. Surprisingly, though. The lass had made it rather easy on him without ever knowing.

Mortals tended to avoid the forest, giving it a wide berth and rushing past on the road that ran beside it toward the glen and townships beyond. But not her. Not Emma. She strolled along the path at her leisure, often stopping to peer through the dense foliage as if she wished to look upon the very heart of it. Always from the outside, though. Never had she actually dared to enter despite the fact that doing so would have held no danger for her.

Indeed, the forest held no real danger to anyone. It was simply the prolonged presence of his kind that caused the sense of dread to permeate into the Mortal Realm. Mortals always did fear that which they did not understand. Not that they shouldn’t be wary. There were dangers in associating with his kind, just as there were dangers to his kind when associating with Mortals. Hence the restrictions in their nature.

Those restrictions hadn’t kept him from fulfilling his duty, though. For years he’d watched as she made her way from the village to the glen where she gathered the wild berries for her jams. Always hovering at the very edge of the forest’s boundary just as she did; considering her with every bit as much interest and wonder as she did the forest beyond his hidden form. Oh, how he’d wanted to entice her to step over that threshold, and perhaps had attempted to a time or twice, but she never challenged that particular convention like she had so many others the village held.

In recent years, he knew his interest in her went beyond his vow or bonded command; a fact that concerned his better nature greatly. He’d come to anticipate her trips to the glen, structuring his existence around their occurence so he would not miss a moment in her presence, even if she were unaware of his. Though, he did wonder if she could sense him at times. A fanciful thought, but an earnest one as well.

Over the years, his awe for her had only increased. No sight could compare to her beauty. No sunrise had ever displayed such radiance, nor sunset such splendor. There was no gold of the earth or wheat of the field that could capture the brilliance of her hair. No gem of veridian or leaf at the peak of its lushness that could match the green hue of her dazzling eyes. Her skin was milk, her voice honey, and her form pressed against his when he’d carried her in his arms had been an exhilarating mix of softness and strength.

It had been a near thing that night. Were it not for his unfulfilled duty, he would have most assuredly carried her through the archway. Taken her for his own to a world away from that of Mortals. His vow had kept her from such a fate, and with the matter resolved he would now be obliged to move on from this place. She would be left in peace, safely away from the likes of him. Loathe as he was to depart from her, he did not have the liberty to remain; his nature did not allow for him to establish relations with Mortals unless their permission was given by invitation, or an edict was given under a direct bonded command, which made the lass’ note all the more vexing.

He’d prepared himself for this to be their farewell, but now… he had her invitation to remain. An invitation from her and a compulsion within himself, for this new offer did not hold the strings his bonded command had. This invitation was open ended, allowing him the freedom to frequent the cottage whenever he wished - during the appropriate hours for his kind, that is - and establishing the type of connection with the lass he’d longed for.

A connection that could very well be to her detriment if he did not tread carefully. He had no wish to bring ill will upon her, but he could not deny his nature and its proclivity towards darkness, especially where Mortals were concerned. Why they had ever chosen _him_ to act as her guardian he’d never know, but in doing so they may very well have sealed her fate… and his.


	4. The Garden

It had saddened Emma to find no note waiting for her when she woke that morning. The basket and coat had been collected during the night, but nothing of her neighbor lingered in either the gardens or the cottage itself. Perhaps he would come round later for tea as she had offered?

The thought set a smile upon her face as she began the day’s tasks, first and foremost being the garden. She had the sunshine on her side, warming the early spring morning as she toiled in the cold earth, still holding on to the chill of winter. As her hands worked to loosen and expose the soil it began to lose its frosty bite, and Emma marveled at how quickly the sun could coax warmth back into the ground.

Her wonder did stop there, though.

The vines she’d examined the evening prior seemed to have flourished exponentially overnight. The brittle remnants of dormancy had given way to a suppleness as tender leaves started to unfurl and the small buds had doubled in size. Such growth seemed miraculous in such a short span of time, but given the fact Emma did not know what species of vine it was that acted as sentry around the perimeter of the garden, she could not say if its burgeoning was truly outstanding or common in its cultivation. However, the persistent lack of buds along the archway vines did remain peculiar, though Emma did not tarry too long at its opening to form any sort of conclusions.

The hours of the morning passed in unhurried leisure. Emma had never had the luxury of a garden before, just the odd flower box or pot by which to grow herbs. She’d always dreamed of having one, though, and her mind whirled with ideas while she tended the soil, marked the beds, and made mental note of what seeds she might try to procure at the village market. So caught up in her enthusiasm, she did not notice as morning turned to midday then to early afternoon, until a fresh gust of familiar scented air blew in from the archway. Gauging by the sundial positioned in the corner of the garden, it was nearing tea time.

Emma looked down at her bedraggled appearance, grimacing slightly. She was covered in dirt, the pungent scent of dampened earth mixing with the sweet smell of exertion filled her nostrils, causing her nose to crinkle. Tendrils of hair had slipped from their pins, some plastered to the side of her face and neck from the sheen of perspiration covering her skin, others haphazardly catching on the breeze. _I must look a fright_ , she thought before a real fear entered her consideration.

What if her neighbor accepted the invitation for today? She could hardly entertain anyone in such a fashion.

Hurriedly, she collected her tools from where they lay scattered about the garden when her eye caught sight of a flutter of something sitting on the bench. A gasp escaped her when she drew closer and realized it was a bit of folded parchment. Where had it come from? She knew it had not been there earlier, yet she had not left the garden since she’d begun work early that morning. Surely she would have seen someone enter.

After wiping her hands down the front of her apron in an attempt to clean them, Emma picked up the parchment and carefully unfolded it, recognizing the penmanship instantly.

_My Dearest Swan,_

_You mustn’t sell yourself short, love. Your gifts of the bread and jam were positively delightful and carried every bit as much kindness and care in their simplicity as mine did in their grandeur._

_What is that adage? It is the thought that counts?_

_I can assure you, the thought counted very much. Though I am far less deserving of your thoughts than you are of my kindness, I am grateful for it all the same._

_As I am grateful for you invitation to tea. Unfortunately, such pleasure as an afternoon spent in your company will not be possible. My days are otherwise occupied. Please do not take this to mean that I am not at your disposal. Should you have need of me, you can leave word here at the garden bench._

_I remain affectionately yours._

A sigh of relief escaped Emma’s lungs even as a pang of disappointment settled within her chest. Glad as she was to not be caught in such a state, she could not help the melancholy that seeped its way into her spirit. She had hoped to offer her thanks in person, and perhaps strike up a kinship with the only other person in her immediate area. Wouldn’t he wish for the same, considering how far removed from the village they were?

Emma’s brows furrowed as she read over the letter once more, realizing he had yet again neglected to offer his name in the closing. She’d have to keep mentally referring to him as her neighbor, she supposed.

After a quick wash up and long overdue break to her fast, Emma settled herself on the garden bench to enjoy the remaining few hours of daylight and the warmth it offered her skin. She made a list of provisions she’d need to collect next time she visited the market, muttering the items back to herself aloud as she double checked them. A visit to the glen would be required soon, so she could begin making her jams to sell later in the season. If all went to plan in the garden, she might even have additional wares to offer as well.

Her daydreams of a plentiful and prosperous garden spilled over in her utterances as they’d been known to do in her years of loneliness. Having no one else with whom she could converse with regularly, Emma had taken on the habit of talking to herself. Although, there were times when she’d felt as though someone were there listening fondly as she rambled, usually when she walked along the path that led to the glen; the one that ran alongside the forest. She had that same feeling now.

“Unfortunately, I won’t get a chance to visit the market tomorrow,” she sighed forlornly, knowing that would mean a delay in her work in the garden. “I really ought to tend to things around here. More wood needs chopping, and the well pump needs greased. It would be best to visit the glen, and make more jam before I go as well. That way I could offer it in trade for some of the things I need and save my coin.”

A shiver rippled over her skin, pebbling her flesh in its wake. It was then Emma realized that the sun had already begun to set. She cast one last look about her garden and smiled with a sense of pride at her accomplishments. She really shouldn’t be in any rush. After all, the cottage and garden belonged to her now, she had all the time in the world to make her dream a reality.

_And all the time in the world to discover the name of my neighbor_ , Emma mused as she made her way back into the cottage. _He did say he was at my disposal after all._


	5. The Bench

Emma stretched, releasing a deep moan from the ache in her protesting muscles while attempting to blink past the harsh light of the sun’s rays streaming in through her window. She knew before even fully opening her eyes to check the angle of those rays that she’d slept far longer than she’d intended. Her work in the garden the day before, while exhilarating, had obviously taken its toll on her body. Knowing she’d have to take better care to pace herself and make time to eat helped alleviate any concern she felt about the lateness of the hour. Though she did still have a number of tasks to accomplish today.

Mentally running through the list she’d made in the garden the evening prior, Emma shuffled to the kitchen. She’d planned to start the fire in the stove with the few remainings pieces of wood so she could prepare a bit of sustenance before beginning the manual labor ahead of her. Except… there weren’t a few pieces of wood left. There was an abundance of perfectly cut and stacked logs in the iron rack next to the stove. Peering around the corner, back toward her parlor, revealed the same marvel next to her fireplace.

She didn’t have to wonder who was behind the completed task, but she did have to ponder the how. How had he known?

An amused huff of bewilderment forced itself from her lungs, pulling her from the stunned stupor that had taken hold, and she chose to set aside the mystery for the moment in favor of returning to the intended task. After making sure the oven fire was properly stoked, Emma grabbed the kettle and began filling it at the water pump, finding it too had been attended to overnight, just as the firewood.

Her brow remained furrowed all through her morning meal as she tried to reconcile how her neighbor could have known about these household tasks, and why he would take it upon himself to complete them for her. Did he not think her capable of seeing to these matters herself? The unbalanced nature of their association began to weigh heavily on Emma, and further pressed against her spirit and pride when she entered the garden and discovered new gifts for her upon the bench.

Her basket had been returned, and within it was a bounty of provisions. Cuttings of a variety of herbs, some foreign, but with fragrances that danced in her sinuses were bundled next to packets of seeds that would more than fill her garden with their abundance. In addition to these were some of the reddest, plumpest berries she’d ever seen, and she recognized them at once as being ones that only grew within the forest. Popping one into her mouth to sample its delights, she gloried at the way it burst over her tongue, closing her eyes and audibly appreciating the unique flavor it offered. Another note was tucked in the side of the wicker, and Emma plucked it from its resting place as she indulge in another berry… or four.

Again, the note was unsigned, but confirmed what she’d already surmised. It had indeed been her neighbor who had completed her tasks. A sense of gratitude, and an eagerness to put his gifts to use was juxtaposed against her umbrage at his seeming disbelief of her competence, as well as his continued vexing behaviour. With a fresh fire of indignation in her belly, Emma returned to the cottage with her basket of goodies in hand. _It would be wasteful not to utilize them_ , she rationalized, and began to pen a response.

_Good Sir,_

_Though I do suppose gratitude is in order, not only for your services, but your continued gifts as well, I’m afraid I must insist that you refrain from such action in the future. Perhaps it was an error for me to accept your initial kindness so freely, for I fear it may have given the wrong impression._

_I assure you, good sir, that I am not incapable of running my household, nor am I without the skill to provide for myself. If I have given you any indication that I am somehow destitute or devoid of such capabilities, then please allow this letter to dissuade you of such notions._

_My curtness may come as a bit of a revelation, and is perhaps not entirely warranted, but I must confess that I am rather vexed by your continued elusiveness. You have declared a measure of affection in both your actions and words, yet I have not even merited the introduction of your person or your name._

_As my neighbor, I wish for ours to be a close and amiable association; one that is established on equal footing and regard. When these terms become agreeable to you, I shall be more than happy to receive your gestures of neighborly affection once more. For then I will know the authenticity of their intent is more than simple charity, of which I have no need or desire._

_Respectfully,_

_Miss Swan._

_~/~_

He watched from his vantage point just beyond the archway as his Swan appeared once more in the garden. A bloom of pink flushed across her cheeks and her eyes flashed with a heat that threatened to set her entire garden ablaze. His brow arched up his forehead, wondering what could have caused such a turnabout in her mood. The basket he’d left for her seemed to have been well received. The smile that had graced her lips as she took in the sweet aroma of the herbs, the way her eyes had lit up when she’d inspected the seed packets, and the sound of approval that had escaped her lips before her tongue had swept over them in satisfaction had warmed his heart and stirred his soul - to say nothing of what it had done to his trousers.

Emma forcefully set a folded note upon the bench then placed a pebble atop it, securing its position before turning on her heel and marching back into the cottage. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a swirling breeze through the archway; one strong enough to displace the pebble while still delivering Swan’s note gently into his hand. His brows rose ever higher as he read her words while a smirk pulled at his lips.

She was a tough and fiery lass, indeed.

“That patch of earth is going to end up claiming you for its own if you’re not careful,” a voice chimed from behind him.

“Tink,” he acknowledged in greeting without turning to face her company.

“How much longer do you plan to keep doing this?”

“What?”

“Linger,” Tink drawled. “You are finally free of your vow. Why not move on from this place? Return to the sea? I know you must miss it.”

“Aye. I do. But…” his voice trailed off in the face of the decision he’d been struggling with since he’d received her first letter.

“But what?”

“She invited me to stay.”

“Then why do you remain so elusive?” Tink exclaimed. “Why not go to her?”

“Because she did not mean the invitation in that way,” he argued. “She thought her words were directed at a Mortal not a… not one of us.”

“Perhaps if she knew the truth, she _would_ mean them that way.”

“Perhaps,” he considered solemnly. “All the more reason to ignore the invitation, though.”

Tink clucked her tongue at him. “When will you put all that behind you? If it concerns you so greatly, you could always give her your name. Though, given her circumstances… would it have the same effect?” She cocked her head to the side and began pondering the mysteries of the lass’ uniqueness just as he had for many years.

“I’m not entirely certain how our natures would interact with one another,” he confessed.

“Only one way to find out, don’t you agree?” Tink nudged, always hoping to prompt him into greater action than he thought prudent, given his history.

“Aye… perhaps.”

~/~

The next morning when Emma entered her garden she gasped at what awaited her on the bench. Dozens of the most exquisite pink roses she’d ever set her eyes upon were all carefully laid out on its expanse, each bundle tied with delicate ribbons of the finest silk and velvet. Their heady fragrance made her almost lightheaded as she bent over them to collect the note he’d left.

_These have always reminded me of your beauty._

_Your Most Agreeable Neighbor,_

_Killian_


	6. The Market

Emma packed up her jars of jams, trays of tarts, and delicate stacks of flower crowns into her cart in preparation for the village market, all while babbling excitedly to herself. She’d spent the past few days experimenting with the berries her neighbor, Killian, had left, with more bushels appearing upon the garden bench each day to aid in her creations (with an agreed upon compensation given in exchange). The beautiful roses he’d gifted had been woven into floral wreaths, and Emma was still in awe over how they’d retained their freshly cut quality all these days later.

There’d been a great many marvels that had continued to amaze and bewilder Emma over the past several days. In addition to the lack of wilting in any of the roses, the herbs and seeds had already begun to take root within their beds, many of them sprouting far quicker than her newly acquired volumes suggested they would. The fact that Killian continued to leave her gifts on their bench, even after her scathing letter, should perhaps be the least awe inspiring occurrence, but their appearances never failed to surprise her. Books that aided her as she tended the garden and lovely notes praising her progress in that regard, made Killian a welcomed source of encouragement and support to her, which she no longer considered acts of charity but true evidence of his affection.

With her cart filled to the brim Emma set off towards the village, but not before she flippantly called out a _wish me luck_ over her shoulder, which was answered with another swirl of masculine scented air wafting out from the archway. Her heart fluttered at the sensation of it against her skin and a smile tugged at her lips before she pulled the lower one between her teeth. It was a fanciful notion to believe her neighbor had anything to do with the well wishing wind, but it didn’t stop her from uttering a quiet thank you as she set off.

The market was already bustling when Emma arrived. The cacophony of sounds seemed to drown out her greetings as she passed by the stalls of others on her way to set up her own, as none were returned to her. Undeterred, Emma pulled out her wares, displaying them to their best advantage, before placing one of the flower crowns on her head and eagerly awaiting her customers.

Who never came.

Patron after patron passed by her stall, pointedly ignoring her attempts to grab their attention, making her feel as though she were invisible. It wasn’t until midday that she received a spark of interest; a young girl who was positively radiating joy at the sight of the floral crowns.

“You look like a princess!” the girl exclaimed with a bright smile and equally bright eyes.

Returning the smile, Emma held out a crown towards the girl and offered, “Would you care for one? Then we can be princesses together.”

The little girl’s face fell. “I’m afraid I have no coin for it.”

Emma rounded her table so she could crouch down in front of the child. “That’s okay. You can have it as my gift. It would be a shame for its beauty to go to waste, don’t you think?”

The girl’s dark brown curls bounced as she nodded her head enthusiastically, and Emma laughed at her delight; a sound that was abruptly cut off when a another hand snatched the flower crown from her hand as she was about to place it on the child’s head.

“How dare you attempt to ensnare my daughter with your evil wares!”

“Evil?” Emma gasped in shock, standing as the girl was yanked back from her presence.

“Flowers such as those do not grow anywhere but the forest,” the woman declared loudly, drawing a crowd to gather around them. “My Grandmother told me stories of their bewitching nature. Nothing of the forest can be trusted.”

Mercilessly, the flower crown was thrown to the ground and stomped upon.The woman then gathered her daughter, who now had tears running down her face as her eyes despairingly took in the sight of her gift, mangled and sullied in the dirt at their feet, into her arms as if she needed protecting from some sort of monster.

“Is that true?” a bystander questioned from the crowd, an accusatory tone underpinning his words. “Did the flowers come from the forest?”

Emma opened and closed her mouth several times, scanning the crowd before her as they scorned her with distrustful eyes, desperate for a friendly face and finding none. “They were a gift,” she began to explain. “From my neighbor.”

“Neighbor? What neighbor?” The crowd began to murmur in low tones of malice, sending a chill up Emma’s spine as her heart raced with unfurling panic. “That accursed cottage you were so desperate to obtain stands in relative isolation from the rest of the village.”

Emma ran her tongue over her lips, her breath catching before responding, “My neighbor from the forest. He-”

She did not get to finish her divulgence, her words having sparked the incited mob into action. Action that forced Emma to witness the destruction of all her efforts to share the wonders of the forest and the kindness of her neighbor with the people she’d always hoped might one day accept her. Despite her pleas and protests, every jar of jam was smashed. The contents spilled next to the destroyed floral crown, creating a sticky muck of dark crimson beneath the violators’ feet. The air tinted with blush as the remaining crowns were torn asunder, scattering the delicate pink petals on the winds that had begun to whip with the same frenzy as the crowd.

Barely able to breath against the tightness gripping her chest, Emma somehow managed to stumble her way out of the mob before its ire settled its attentions on her. Tears streamed down her cheeks and air finally began to make its way back into her lungs when she reached the edge of the village. With one last bereaved look over her shoulder, Emma sprinted back to her cottage, hoping it might provide her much needed sanctuary and solace.

The distress in her spirit was palpable when she finally made it home. Despite the comfort and care the cottage had been able to provide for her thus far, it could not meet the challenge of her current sorrow. After entering her garden, hoping refuge might be sought there, Emma realized there was only one source of comfort that could hope to alleviate the grief in her soul. The only person who’d spared her an ounce of compassion and loving friendship since she’d lost the woman who had been like a mother to her all those years ago.

He’d said if she ever had need of him, to leave word at the bench. She most certainly needed him now.

_Killian_

_I need you. I’ve gone into the forest in search of you. Should you happen upon this letter before I locate you, simply follow the ribbons in order to come find me._

_Emma_

With the letter secured to the bench Emma set a path toward the archway, but stopped shy of entering. For whatever reason, Killian had warned her not to enter the forest by way of the arch. Heeding his advice, she turned and exited the garden through the side gate, forcing a calming breath into her chest as she stepped over the threshold and into the forest.


	7. The Forest

Serenity rippled over Emma the moment she entered the forest. The trees groaned their welcome in the sway of their branches while the leaves greeted her in their soft rustle. Inhaling deeply, the crisp air simultaneously soothed and invigorated her with the redolence of pine, earth, and cedar. Her skin felt alive with a heightened sense of awareness, and though no evidence was offered as proof of any company other than the trees, Emma felt the shackles of loneliness give way.

She scoured the area around the treeline that edged the back of the garden, hoping to discover some manner of trail. Every few meters she secured a length of colorful ribbon, the silks and velvets Killian had used to bundle the roses, to low branches as way of leaving a path. Each step that led her further into the forest had her heart rate increasing in measured intervals. Anticipation for the moment she’d longed for hummed through her at the prospect that just around the next cluster of trees, or mound of earth she might come face to face with the man who had come to be so much more than a mere neighbor.

It was difficult to know just how long she’d wandered with the canopy above her obscuring the sun. Before long the barrage of emotions she’d experienced since the market, and upon entering the forest, not to mention the great distance she’d already trekked, began to take their toll as each footfall became heavier and less graceful. In her weariness she stumbled over a bramble of roots, landing her hard against the forest floor which covered her with its debris. Crawling her way to a nearby oak, Emma propped herself against its base and drew her knees to her chest.

“Where are you, Killian?” she sniffled as tears slipped from the confines of her lids and down her dusty cheeks. 

Resting her head against her knees, Emma let loose this new swell of anguish, purging her hurt and heartache in the haven the forest provided. Her tears were nearly spent when a gentle breeze caressed her hair in a light soothing manner, as if the elements wished to offer her comfort and share in her burdens. She’d held in the tale long enough, and as the words tripped over her lips and stuttered on her breath, a hush like none ever felt before fell over the forest.

~/~

Killian arrived at the archway late in the afternoon, hoping his Swan might be in her garden. He was eager to hear how her trip to the market had fared, and expected to find her happily sharing the days events with her surroundings as she was prone to do. Her absence had his brows furrowing, as did the sight of the note sitting upon the bench. In his usual fashion, Killian retrieved it and alarm shot through his body at the sight of the first few words.

_I need you._

Emma had never requested his assistance, and had in fact become quite put out with him when he’d offered it without her solicitation. Dread seeped into the pit of his stomach after he finished her letter. Not because she’d gone into the forest. Nothing there would ever harm her, for they’d have him to deal with. No. His unease came from what the others would say or do, what the Mortals in village would say or do, should they discover her recklessness. 

He knew they had long held superstitions, some with a basis of truth and others pure nonsense about the forest and its contents. None dared enter because of those passed down tales, and his kind - well most of his kind - were content to keep the divide. His urgency spiked and his need to find his Swan nearly overwhelmed him; he had to make sure she was alright, find out what happened to cause her such distress, and remove her from the forest before anyone discovered she’d been there.

Cursing under his breath, he gauged the hour and knew he would not be able to enter her realm through the archway for another few hours. That didn’t mean he couldn’t find her, go to her, try and comfort her the best he could until then. 

The ribbons, though a bloody brilliant idea, were unnecessary. Unbeknownst to her, Emma left a trail he could follow from his parallel existence because of the very nature of who, _what_ , she was. He had no way of knowing how long she’d been left to wander through her forest’s plane, but it was evident, given the distance she’d traveled and the exhaustion he could see in her slumped form, that she’d been here for some time.

Killian’s heart shattered at the sound of her gentle weeping, its shards laying waste to his chest cavity where he found it difficult to draw breath. Never had he been so resentful towards the rift between their worlds, the shift that kept them just one step out of sync from each other while the sun held its place in the sky. He cursed the sun for impeding his ability to wrap his arms around the despondent woman for whom he cared so deeply, then resigned himself to simply sit beside her and hope she could sense his presence. Or at least some measure of comfort.

Reaching out, he stroked her hair and her head lifted from where it had rested against her knees. Tear tracks were visible over her dirt stained cheeks and a hitch in her breath kept her from fully filling her lungs. Her face, blotched from her expended turmoil, had never looked so morose nor her eyes so mournful, the radiance that usually shone from their depths was dimmed, snuffed out by her melancholy.

“Oh, my darling,” Killian whispered softly. He knew she could not hear him, nevertheless the question would not be suppressed. “What has happened, my love?”

Emma wet her lips and swallowed against her emotions. Blowing out a shaky breath she tilted her head back to rest against the trunk of the towering oak she’d taken refuge under, and to Killian’s astonishment, began answering the very question he’d posed.

Rage boiled his blood and simmered in every particle of his being as Emma recounted her experience in the market. His body began to tremble from the crumbling of his control when she finished her tale and exhaustion carried her off to sleep as the sun started to set. His fury gave his feet a sense of flight as he ran back to the archway, so he could properly enter her world and her presence the moment the last of the sun’s rays were extinguished. 

Just as he’d done the night she’d fallen asleep on the bench in the garden, Killian gathered Emma into his arms and carried her home. This time, however, he remained at her side, wrapping her in his embrace as she slept, allowing the steady rhythm of her heart to regulate a measure of calm over him. His anger was no longer at combustible levels, but it still coiled tightly in his belly. Anger at the villager’s ignorance and callousness, and at himself.

He was just as much to blame.

Afterall, he was the reason the forest was feared, he was the element of truth behind their superstitions and lore. If not for him, Emma would not have been raised in the shadow of distrust, or now face the contempt of suspicion. He knew he should have left when his vow had been completed, but it was too late now. He was tied too tightly to his Swan and her happiness, even though he knew it was not something he could truly offer her. Her happiness was here, at the cottage, where she’d been destined to reside. How could he ever ask her to abandon the dreams she’d always had for her life, _their_ dreams for her life, in order to live a life by his side?

Perhaps, he wouldn’t have to.

A plan began to form in his mind; a plan of dark cunning with an even darker outcome, but one that might satisfy all his cravings and desires. The village had to be punished, after all, and Killian knew he’d have the allegiance of others once they’d learned what had happened. Her words gave him leave to act on her behalf, making the restrictions that would otherwise prevent his actions a bit more flexible with the proper manipulation. With luck, everything could be put in place by morning, and resolved by sundown. 

Just in time for he and Emma to have a proper introduction.

Though he was eager to put his plan into action, he was in no hurry to pry himself from his Swan’s side. So, it was with great reluctance that he settled her alone in her bed, a kiss placed on her forehead and his great coat covering her, with a note tucked into its pocket once more.

_You are safe now, my darling. I regret that I must leave while you are still abed, but rest assured I shall return to you as soon as I am able._

_I beseech you, do not leave the safety of the cottage today. Do not stray from the property or enter the forest._

_Wait for me in the garden, love. I’ll see you just after sunset._

_Yours,_

_Killian_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I know many of you were expecting them to meet this chapter (so was I), and/or thought Killian's nature would be revealed (so did I!!), but it didn't work out that way. The good news is, I can guarantee that BOTH happen in the next chapter. So, STAY TUNED!


	8. The Neighbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love, rainbow kisses, and unicorn stickers to cocohook38 who created some stunning pieces of art inspired by my fic (and she's totally a witch, because she conjured Killian's appearance without any spoilers from this chapter!). Go check them out on Tumblr and leave her some flails!

The silver haze of fog hung heavy in the air, dense enough to thwart the sun’s efforts that on any other day might have burned it off by midmorning. Distant rumbles announced the coming of a storm, but not so much as a single drop of rain had fallen by early afternoon. Not that the weather outside the cottage mattered much to Emma, not when she remained in bed, curled beneath Killian’s coat, letting the weight and smell of it lull her into imaginings of still being held in his arms.

It had been a bittersweet awakening to find herself back in the cottage with the evidence that Killian had indeed found her at some point, but had been unable to remain by her side. She believed his assertions that he had not wished to leave, and willed the day to hurry along in its progress so they might be reunited quickly.

Her stomach prompted her to leave the warmth of her bed around tea time, and she was caught off guard by the unnatural chill that permeated the cottage. When she opened the front door to assess the oppressive fog, a biting chill gusted through the threshold and she had to fight against the force of it in order to secure the door in its casing once more. Though concerned with how this peculiar weather might impede her and Killian’s meeting later in the evening, she did not allow it to rob her of the sweet anticipation that had worked to lighten her mood as the afternoon ticked away.

She took great care in making herself presentable for him, heat flushing up her neck whenever she considered the undignified manner by which he’d come to know her appearance. Adorned in her best ensemble, a simple shift in impractical ivory with a matching cloak, finely embroidered and gifted by her mother before her passing, Emma left her hair free of pins, allowing it to freely cascade down her back and over her shoulders and made her way to the garden bench.

A gentle breeze swirled around her, catching her hair in its flight which prompted her to glance towards the archway. Doing so practically made her heart stop. For silhouetted within in its opening was the figure of a man, obscured by the trick of the light as it struggled against the weight of darkness closing in. When the last vestiges of day were extinguished, he entered her garden at last.

Emma stood, as was proper when receiving a guest, but her legs trembled and breath stilled as she took in his appearance. He was exquisitely beautiful. Tall, but not overly so, with a commanding presence and posture befitting a man of the station his clothes boasted. He was garbed in head to toe leather, from the shine on his black boots, to the butter soft opaqueness of his trousers and vibrant red of his waist coat, with only the billowy texture of his smoke tinted blouse visible beneath presented in contrast.

The dark nature of his dress was equally matched in other elements of his appearance and countenance. Inky hair sat tousled upon his crown, as if perpetually windswept in some manner. Brows that matched in hue lay against his skin which glowed pale in the moonlight. A dusting of stubble littered his jaw line, clenched tight as he patiently waited for her to complete her perusal. Of all these features and details of his person, three stood out in strong contrast to all the rest.

His piercing forget-me-not eyes, sharply pointed ears, and _horns_ jutting out from atop his head.

Emma’s heart hammered in her chest as she realized the person standing before her was no ordinary man. Indeed, he was not a man at all, and though he’d first introduced himself as her neighbor, it was clear he was not of this realm.

“You… you are not… human.” Emma shut her eyes tightly in mortification. She hadn’t meant to blurt out her assessment in such a garrish manner.

Fortunately, he did not seem offended by her bluntness, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest before replying, “Does that surprise you?”

His voice felt luscious in the way it wrapped its lilting allure around each word, and Emma had to mentally shake herself in order to collect her thoughts, causing shivers of wonder to run up and down her spine.

“In retrospect, I suppose not.” It really shouldn’t have. The knowledge that he was something other than mortal explained a great number of mysteries that had plagued her since acquiring the cottage and gaining his association.

“Does it… trouble you?”

The vulnerability in his tone contradicted his countenance, which Emma could sense had a touch of darkness in its aura. Did it trouble her? Should it? He’d provided her glimpses of the true nature that must befit his kind, whatever he may be, and given the lengths in which he’d gone to watch over her, befriend her, offer his affection, she could not fathom being troubled by something she did not yet fully comprehend.

“No. It does not trouble me.”

A soft smile stretched over his perfect lips and his shoulders relaxed, betraying the tension she hadn’t noticed him holding. “I am relieved to hear that.”

They stood in each other’s gaze for several moments before Emma remembered her good manners. Picking up his coat from the bench, she approached him and offered it back with a respectable curtsy, eyes demurely cast downward as she waited for him to take it from her hands. His finger slipped beneath her chin sending a rippling wave over her flesh, and with gentle pressure used it to tilt her face back up to meet his.

“There is no place for such formality between you and I, love.” His hand brushed a gentle caress across her neck as it moved to twirl a section of her hair that trailed over her shoulder.

Certain that he could hear the pounding of her heart, Emma wet her lips and drew in a shallow breath. “You are my honored guest, I only wish to do things properly.”

“Is there a proper way to entertain a being such as I?” he smirked, a brow raising in tandem as he cocked his head to the side.

Emma frowned, and struggled to come up with a response. What was the proper manner in which to entertain a… a whatever he was.

“What say you and I make our own decisions about what is and is not proper between us? We’ll make our own rules of etiquette, yeah?”

Emma nodded and shared in his smile before inviting him to sit with her. “Would you rather we sit here in the garden or inside? The weather is much improved now, and I confess I prefer the fresh air, but if you’d prefer-”

“Out here is fine, love,” he assured, settling himself onto the bench and patting the surface beside him. “I too prefer the outdoors over the confinement of walls.”

Emma sat and made a show of arranging her skirts while wondering how to pose her next question. He hadn’t been put off by her bluntness earlier, and had conveyed his wish that they remain informal, so Emma chose to be somewhat direct once again.

“Please, forgive my impertinence, but… what manner of creature are you? By your ears I would have thought Elven, but your… other feature suggests something of a different nature. Are you some species of fae or a deity of sorts?

“Yes,” he smirked deviously, “and no. There is no singular name for what I am in this realm. Fae, elves, sprites, imps, demons, gods, you Mortals have all manner of name for our kind, but in truth, they are from one origin. The Enchanted. I embody all of these names.”

“But… how can that be? Each are so unique, with their own characteristics.”

“Is it not the same with Mortals, love? Some of you create while others destroy. Some prefer the mountains and others the sea. Do you not come in a variety of colors, sizes, shapes, and temperaments? Each with your own distinct features and personalities? So it is with the Enchanted. Unique and yet, the same.”

Emma chewed on his words, much as she did her lower lip, considering this new truth of a realm she admittedly knew very little about. She’d heard the stories of course, the retelling of lore and superstition that kept the villagers fearful of the forest and the creatures presumed to reside there. It was strange to think she had one sitting beside her now. Though, she did not consider him some manner of _creature_.

Looking up into his brilliant blue eyes, her skin sparked under the heat of his gaze and the way it flicked down to her lips. Her eyes followed suit, settling on the pinked fullness of his mouth, slightly parted with its edges sticking in the corners. It was a slow pulse that drew them together, but once close enough for their breaths to mingle, Killian surged forward with an unnatural swiftness, capturing her upper lip between his. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush to him with her hands tentatively braced at his shoulders. Sensing her inexperience and uncertainty, he lightened the pressure against her lips, pleasantly sliding them against hers while weaving a spell of seduction she was quite willing to fall victim to.

The moniker he’d expressed to describe his kind was proving quite accurate, for he had certainly enchanted her.


	9. The Schism

Emma pulled back, breathless and dizzy, with her hands still clutching at Killian’s shoulders. The heavy rise and fall of his chest, along with the rose tint blooming across his cheeks and cresting the tips of his elvish ears divulged how the kiss had affected him every bit as much as it had her. His tongue swept over his lips, seemingly hungry for a lingering taste that might remain of her before running a hand through his hair (right between his horns), and releasing his tight grip so he could put some space between them.

“My apologies, love. I… Truth be told,” his eyes fixed themselves upon her lips again and she felt her already heated skin flare with a fresh rush of warmth at the way his voice had deepened to a new level of decadence. “I find you rather irresistible.” He shook his head and blinked rapidly, attempting to regain some manner of control before finally clearing his throat and suggesting, “Perhaps we should find a topic of conversation with which to occupy ourselves. I’m sure you have a number of questions.”

Irresistible? He found her irresistible? For so many years no one had found her to be anything other than odd, she wasn’t quite sure how to reconcile his words. Of course, he’d expressed measures of affection in his notes, but it was altogether different hearing them first hand from the source of his lips. Lips which were also proving to be a source of great distraction to Emma’s thoughts.

“I, uh… I suppose I should explain the note I left you yesterday. The reason I went searching for you. You see, at the market yesterday I-”

“I already know,” Killian interrupted, a sharp edge nicking his tone, though she instinctively knew it was not directed towards her.

“You know?”

His expression softened as he reached forward to fiddle with a strand of her hair before tucking it behind her ear. “I heard you tell the tale to the forest, love. There’s no need for you to recount it again.”

Emma’s brows pulled tight in confusion. “What do you mean you heard me tell the forest? If you heard me, why did you not come to me?”

“I did,” he expressed earnestly. “I was right there beside you, hidden from your presence by the veil that separates our two worlds.”

“I don’t understand.”

Killian lifted her hand and positioned it so her palm faced him then pressed his against it. “Our realms are just off kilter from each other,” he began to explain. “Connected at a core point, just as our hands are at the palm, but rotated slightly off axis, and only aligning at certain times.” Splaying his fingers wide, he shifted his hand so they fell between hers, while remaining upright. “My kind can see and hear yours during this shift, because our realms are adjacent to each other. Brushing up against one another as our fingers are now.” He shifted his hand again, so his fingers lined up against hers. “It is only when the realms are aligned that I can enter yours in a corporeal state of being… and only through a portal.”

Emma’s eyes flicked to the back of the garden. “The archway.”

“Aye,” he confirmed, lacing his fingers between hers before bringing her hand up to place a soft kiss along its back.

“So… you were there? In the forest? But hidden from me because the realms were not yet aligned?”

“Aye, love. I was.” With his free hand he brushed a section of hair that rested against the side of her face, caressing her forehead and cheek with his fingertips as it trailed down her blonde strands. She smiled at the infatuation he seemed to have with her hair, and the sensation tugged at her memory.

“The breeze,” she whispered with sudden realization. “You were the breeze.”

“My kind has a natural connection to the elements, capable of bending them to our will. Even through the veil of separation my movements can manipulate the air, though it is muted compared to my touch.”

Emma trembled slightly in the understanding of the full truth of that statement. The gentle caress of breezes she’d felt in the garden and forest, even the gusts of warning and reminder paled in comparison to how his touch made her feel now.

“I’ve heard tales about how certain creatures… your kind, had control over certain elements. Knowing that to be true certainly explains a few things about the garden,” she said amusedly while casting her gaze at their surroundings, neglecting to take in Killian’s bewildered expression.

“What things?”

“You know,” Emma prompted brightly. “Such things as the roses you gifted me. They’d been cut days before I laced them together to take to the market, and yet they never wilted. Or the seedlings here in the garden, sprouting much sooner than the journals say they should, and the vines ready to blossom when it should still be too early in the season for them to do so.”

Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear. “None of that has been my doing, love. My proclivities have always bent towards the wind and waves, not the earth. It’s why I spent so much of my life at sea. My brother and I even served in one of Mortal’s royal navy… but that is a tale for another time,” he finished somberly.

The memory caught him up in a moment of melancholy, and eager as she was to hear it, Emma would not press him for anything more than he was willing to give. Instead, she chose to lighten the mood with a bit of levity.

“A mortal navy? With those?” She inclined her head and cast her eyes to the top of his head where his horns sat, brows high upon her forehead and a smirk lifting at the corner of her mouth. All of which had the desired effect.

Killian grinned, a wide amusement that crinkled the edge of his eyes and put a gleam of mischief in their blue depths. “Things were a bit different between our kinds back then, but I can hide them from the view of Mortals if I wish.” With a flick of his wrist the bony protrusions briefly faded from her sight before returning with another flourish of his hand. “I have no wish to hide them from you. I want you to see me as I truly am.”

Something passed over his features after he spoke the words, too quick for Emma to identify. A sort of grimace, perhaps? An expression of vulnerability? She chose to cast it aside for now in pursuit of her other curiosities.

“I’m happy you didn’t hide them from me, though I can see why you would in other instances. If one did not know you, and went solely by your appearance, I can see how they could easily believe the dark assertions associated with the forest.”

Another dark flicker passed over his face before he settled his eyes on their still joined hands and began rubbing his thumb over the back of hers.

“Most of those dark legends and superstitions were born from events that happened before.”

“Before what?”

“Before the realm was torn asunder into the two that exist now.”

“What?” Emma gasped. He’d just said their worlds were separate. Had that not always been the case?

“There was a time when our worlds were united,” he answered as if he’d heard her unspoken question. “One realm inhabiting both our kind without restriction.”

“What happened? I mean… how did such a thing occur?”

He shrugged his shoulders, attempting to give an air of casual indifference, but she could sense the tense agitation undulating beneath the surface of his facade. “The way most violent outcomes that shift the foundations of normalcy occur. War.”

Emma blanched. “What sort of war could cause a realm to become split in two?”

“A senseless one.”

“Aren’t all wars senseless?” Emma mused. “What caused this war?”

“What causes any war,” he replied, becoming more enigmatic with his answers. More like the cautionary tales described.

“Hate,” she answered. “Or fear. Greed and power. Arrogance.”

“Aye. It was all of those things.”

“Against what?”

“You.” His eyes flicked up and the blackness that swirled there stole Emma’s breath. His eyes cleared when they took in the distress that must have been written upon her face, and he brought his hand up to cup her cheek. “You Mortals, that is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep breath. Come yell at me on Tumblr if wish (@hollyethecurious). The next chapter WILL be up tomorrow... unless I get hit by a bus or something...


	10. The Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey... look at that... I didn't get hit by a bus

* * *

 

Emma listened with rapt fascination at the first hand account of a long ago history experienced by the man - for despite his differing nature, he would always be a man in her estimation - before her. An account that told of two species - Enchanted and Mortal - co-existing in the formerly undivided realm, each with their own kingdoms and agents of authority to govern them.

For centuries the Enchanted served a benevolent king; one that honored and respected the Mortals, and strived to balance peace with the legacy of monarchs that ruled the human neighbors. Not all of the Enchanted were as accepting towards Mortals, nor Mortals towards the Enchanted. So, when the Enchanted King died - _“Yes, Swan. We are immortal, but that simply means that without an intervening event, our lives will go on indefinitely. We can be killed, just not as easily as Mortals. We are… less fragile in that regard.” -_ and the older of his twin sons took the throne; a son who did not share his father’s outlook, relations between the two kinds became strained.

The younger son, a prince of great charm, even by Enchanted standards, did not agree with the way his brother seemed to turn a blind eye to the escalating hostilities between Mortals and Enchanteds. Too many of Killian’s kind had taken to using their heightened abilities to manipulate and take advantage of their human neighbors, believing it was their right as the _superior_ of the two species, believing that Mortals ought to exist only to serve the Enchanted. A belief the new king also held, and one his brother vehemently disputed.

Soon their dispute became a line in the sand by which Killian’s kind were forced to choose a side, and just like that; a civil war broke out. “Though, I can tell you there was nothing civil about it, love.”

The bitterness in his voice clenched around Emma’s heart. She placed her hand at his cheek and he nuzzled into her caress, drawing comfort from the sensation of her touch as she had from his so many times before - seen and unseen.

“What happened? How did the war end?”

“Just as it should have,” he murmured softly, turning his head to place a kiss in her palm before pulling his head away and offering her a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Good triumphed over evil.”

“Then, how did the world become split in two?”

“The prince knew that in order to protect Mortals against those who still held hatred toward them, restrictions would have to be put in place. Restrictions that limited the way the Enchanted could interact with humans.”

“And as a way of punishing those of your kind that were defeated, I’d imagine,” Emma posed.

“Not quite.” He sharply popped the last syllable, giving away a bit more of the agitation still simmering under the surface of his demeanor. “The restrictions were cast upon all Enchanteds, love. The victors were not exempt.”

“Why?”

“I told you. We are of one kind. The victors sacrificed their free will in order to restrain that of the defeated.”

“What sort of restrictions?”

“The freedom to move about the realm, for one. An old spell was cast to establish physical boundaries between our two kinds, boundaries that remain even now, as well as the curfew assigned to us. The spell survived the schism a greater magic created, and was the ingredient that established the alignment between our realms, only allowing us to enter your _borders_ between sunset and sunrise.”

“Making you unable to join me for tea,” Emma quipped, desperate to keep the mood between them as light as possible given the heaviness of the subject.

“Aye,” he replied on an amused breath. “Though I had wished to, most fervently.”

The sparkle returned to his eyes, as did the smile. Emma waited a heartbeat or two before prompting him to continue with the tale, not wishing to take away the light-heartedness of the moment too soon.

Eventually, though, her curiosity came to the forefront.

“What other restraints were there?”

The muscle at his jawline jumped and his hand tightened infinitesimally over hers. “Some of our abilities were turned against us. It used to be a dangerous thing for Mortals to give their names to my kind. Now it is the reverse. To have my name is to have me at your command. Before the schism you could use it to summon me to your side, even during the day, now a summons can only be answered when the realms are aligned. A command upon my name bounds me to do the bidding of the person from whom it was issued. The more devious of us would offer our names freely to tyrants and warlords, committing unspeakable acts against their enemies, which some still considered their own.”

“That’s why you refrained from signing your notes.” Emma’s heart dropped into her stomach and her eyes fell closed in shame. “You were trying to protect your name. I never should have… I’m sorry I pressured you into giving it.”

“No, Swan.” His hand released hers so his arms could wrap themselves around her, drawing her against his firm chest. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he murmured into her hair, his breath warm against the crown of her head before he turned his face to rest his cheek upon it. “I gave you my name of my own free will. I _want_ you to have it.”

Emma remained in his embrace, wondering what she could have possibly done to merit such trust from him. Feeling certain that with each detail he’d offered up in willingness there were dozens still he chose to reserve, she knew such confidence was not a natural inclination to his character. Yet, he had given it to her. Why? It wasn’t as if she were anything special, so how did she ever manage to catch the attention of an entity such as he? An enchanted being from a realm separated from her own?

“You still haven’t explained how our worlds became separated,” she reminded.

He loosened his grip, allowing her to pull away, though she only went as far as was necessary to look upon his face. His long fingers found their way to her hair again, threading through her tresses while being mindful that none caught on the rings that adorned his hand.

“As I’m sure you’ve gathered, these restrictions, and the many others I’ve yet to mention, did little to prevent continued malice from both sides. The prince did his best to maintain order and peace, but the Mortal sovereigns had lost all trust in the Enchanted. Then something happened that made the protection of Mortals all the more urgent for the prince.”

“What was that?”

Killian’s attention turned from where his hand continued to weave through her locks and settled back on her face, skimming it with a tender look. “He fell in love with a Mortal.”

Emma’s heart skipped within her chest, her lips parting with a quick intake of breath while reminding herself that this was a tale of the past, not the present. That Killian couldn’t be referring to him, to her, to _them._

“Worried for his love’s safety, as well as all Mortals, he enacted a deep magic; one that could protect her from his enemies whilst still allowing him to be with her. But it came at a great price.”

“What price?”

“His immortality.”

“H-He gave up being immortal for her? How?”

“Mortality, or lack thereof, resides in the heart. To cast the necessary magic, the magic that created the schism, the veil between our kinds, the prince sacrificed his immortal heart and tied himself to a mortal one.”

“The woman he loved.”

“Aye. They each shared one half of her heart, which meant, once her life was spent, so was his.”

Emma expended the air she’d had trapped in her lungs, unsure if it was in relief or disappointment over the fact he hadn’t been referring to himself. The notion that someone would give up so much, sacrifice so much for the love of another overwhelmed her. She could not imagine ever possessing a love so true, no matter how she might crave it. Though, as she considered the man before her and the sensations he’d caused to bloom within her spirit, perhaps it was not so difficult to imagine.

“He really did that for her… for us?”

“Aye. He did it to protect her… and you. You Mortals.” He collected both of her hands in his and brought them up to his lips. “And I regret that I must leave the tale there,” he murmured, grazing a kiss along the back of each of her hands. “Unfortunately, I must depart.”

“Depart?” She was not ready for him to go. “But… you’ve only just arrived.”

“Check the position of the moon and stars, love,” he chuckled, a pleasant rumbling that reverberated in his chest and set a warmth over her entire being. “It’s been many hours since I set foot through the archway.” Emma blushed. She had not even noticed the passage of time, so enraptured in his company as she’d been. “Though, no amount of time in your presence will ever likely be enough to suit my desires, I, alas, have other matters I must attend to.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “I suppose these are your waking hours after all.” They stood and walked together to the archway, hand in hand. “Will I…” she began nervously, unsure how they were meant to properly part ways before remembering they’d agreed to make their own rules. “Would you care to return tomorrow? Perhaps we could share a late supper together?” She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, hoping he wouldn’t think her too forward in the invitation, especially after she’d already allowed the liberty of a kiss.

“I will never refuse an invitation from your lips, Swan.”

His thumb coaxed her lip from the grip of her teeth then settled in the small dimple of her chin, his fingertips brushing lightly under her jaw as he placed a chaste kiss on one cheek, and then the other. The restraint he was imposing over himself to not lay another at her mouth was palpable, and Emma almost threw caution to the wind, her hands clenching at her sides to keep from grabbing the lapels of his coat and pulling his lips to hers. The apple of Killian’s throat bobbed and he took a determined step backward, his heels grazing the threshold of his realm.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispered, disappearing through the archway with his resolve in tact.

 


	11. The Mob

Killian hovered just beyond the threshold of the archway, waiting for his Swan to return to the cottage. Every instinct demanded he walk back through, take her in his arms again, kiss her soundly, and entice her back through the archway. It would not be too difficult, given their kiss earlier. A kiss still seared upon his lips, smoldering down to his soul.

His kind had often been accused of using some manner of dark magic or trickery to bewitch or seduce mortals. In reality, he had no such power. His natural charm and charisma could only enhance feelings that already existed, ones already present. True, many of his kind, himself included, had used that allure to manipulate Mortals for their own purposes, but he had no wish to do that with Emma. That was a line he would not allow his darker compulsions to cross. It was clear from her response that she did harbor an attraction, a sense of affection for him, but if not for his enchanted allure, she most likely would not have indulged him in a kiss so soon. He’d been careless in the moment, giving in to her irresistible allure, for he had been honest in his declaration that he had difficulty resisting her, but he would. Until such a time her natural inclinations progressed them forward, he would be ever the gentleman.

In that regard, anyway.

Not with regard to the villagers.

They were the actual reason for his loitering by the archway. He’d been unable to slake his thirst for revenge the previous evening, and intended to finish the job as soon as Swan retired. Regardless of the niggling voice in the back of his mind, the one that sounded infuriatingly like his departed older brother, telling him revenge wasn’t what Emma would want. That it wasn’t _good form_. Well, neither was the way they’d treated her, the way they had always treated anyone or anything that was different. Killian knew full well the cruelty of which the village was capable, the lengths of villainy they were willing to pursue to purge anything they deemed _abnormal._ Emma may have been able to escape relatively unscathed the day before, but what about next time? What if they discovered...

No. Killian wasn’t willing to risk her safety again. He refused to lose anyone else he cared for, anyone he loved to the villager’s callous spite. They had to be punished. They _would_ be punished. He was going to see to that this very night, finish what he’d started the night prior, and then… he’d have everything he’d ever wanted.

Killian brought back the memories of the previous evening, allowing his darker nature to feed off the thrill and satisfaction of finally meting out justice.

_As expected, there were a few Enchanteds willing to assist him in his pursuits against the village. Some he was less eager to have on board than others. Like the piper. He couldn’t deny the piper’s talents though, and Killian required those talents in order to ensure the safety of the innocent. It was Tink’s one demand. No harm to the children. So, in the hours before dawn, Pan enticed the babes from their beds with the melody of his flute, leading them through the archway and deep into the Enchanted’s forest, forever trapping them in the realm of the Enchanted the moment the sun's rays hit the arch. A by product of the schism that affected Mortals, condemning any human caught within the Enchanted realm at the transition of moon and sun to be forever imprisoned there._

_It had taken more time than Killian had anticipated, but once every child had been spirited away he’d set to work, manipulating the elements within the village. The air was chilled and set in a repeating pattern of swirling gusts, meant to freeze the marrow of those who lingered out of doors for too long. The wood supply was altered, so the smoke expended through the village chimneys would not be dispersed by the icy winds, but hover as a desne choking smog. This would deny the inhabitants the ability to search for their children, forcing them to stew in their worry, while also making it impossible for them to escape until he could return._

An unexpected knot of remorse twisted in Killian’s gut and compressed his heart. He’d meant for such reflections to stoke the dark nature he’d suppressed while in Swan’s presence, to fuel the flame of vengeance. Instead it left him bereft and despondent. The voice had been correct. Emma would never want this. His Emma, who’d been able to look upon his visage without an ounce of trepidation, who did not allow any streak of prejudice to mar the lens of her wonder, who gazed upon the unfamiliar and saw beauty in its possibilities would never condone such evil as he’d done.

Killian hung his head, knowing his actions had effectively destroyed any hope he might have had in wooing his Swan to his side, and there was nothing he could do to make it right. He could remove the spell over the village, but the children… they were forever lost to the Mortal realm now. A tight vice of anguish gripped his chest, and hot tears stung the corners of his eyes as he cast one last look upon his Swan, still tarrying in her garden with a dreamy expression alighting her features. The vice turned tighter at the knowledge it was he who had put such joy in her spirit, and it would be he that would eviscerate it when news of what he’d done reached her. She should hear it from him, he knew, but he lacked the courage to step through the archway and confess it. Before he could muster up his resolve, angry shouts caught his attention.

“Where are they, witch!”

A mob of villagers rounded the edge of the cottage and gathered at the side gate of the garden. Killian cursed himself. He’d eased the magic on the village so his evening with Emma would not be ill affected by the unnatural atmosphere, and must have lifted it enough for them to rally.

“Who?” Emma responded in sincere bewilderment.

_Bloody hell_ , Killian had not even considered they’d lay the blame at her feet. Hadn’t planned for them to live long enough to blame anyone. Killian stood paralyzed by the uncertainty of how he should intervene on Emma’s behalf. His sudden appearance from the archway would most certainly spook the unstable crowd, even if he concealed his horns. Action needed to be taken, and soon before the agitation of the mob flared in its escalation.

“Don’t act coy with us, witch! We know the evil you’ve done!”

“She’s been seduced by them dark creatures!”

“Bewitched to do their bidding!”

“It’s this place. An evil lurks here!”

“We must destroy it and its evil!”

A villager kicked open the side gate and entered the garden with menacing steps, forcing Emma to stumble back. Killian rushed forward with determination, but was stopped short of the realm’s opening by an equally determined Tink.

“Get the bloody hell out of my way, Tink!”

“Just wait, Killian,” Tink urged.

“For what? I won’t let them harm her! I have to save her!”

“Maybe she’s capable of saving herself.”

Killian’s panic screamed at him to fling Tink aside, but before he could act on the compulsion, he heard Emma cry out a frenzied, “No!” Tink turned, giving them both a clear view of his Swan as she threw out her hands as if to stop the impending destruction of her the cottage.

When the man swung his axe back in preparation for the first blow, the garden vines sprang to life, wrapping themselves around the weapon and wrenching it from his grip. Startled screams and shouts filled the air, and more villagers rushed forth, only to be met by the impediment of more vegetation. They slithered over the ground, up the sides of the cottage, and wove themselves protectively around the entire surface of the structure. Those who came against the pliant sentry found themselves caught in its entwining grasp before being tossed asunder, or threatened with freshly sprouted thorns that rivaled the sharpest of daggers.

Awestruck, Killian’s eyes fell on Emma who was examining her trembling hands with a look of pure horror. While her garden continued to fend off the remaining villagers, Emma’s attention became focused on the briar encased cottage as she took several stuttered steps back, bringing her to edge of the archway.

“Swan?” Though his tone and timbre had been soft, it caused her to jump before spinning around to face him. Extending his hand to her he beckoned, “Come, love. Let’s get you out of here.”

Emma swallowed thickly, her eyes wide and misty with unshed tears. “Through the archway? To your world?”

“Aye, love,” he replied, his eyes fixed on hers, willing her to take his hand, for it had to be her choice. “Come to me.”

Emma placed her hand in his, and he wasted no time possessively closing his around it, giving a gentle tug to prompt her forward. Her glittering green eyes were locked with his as she stepped over the threshold, willingly accepting her place within his arms as he pulled her in close to his chest. Her body shook as she released the emotion she’d held back, dampening his garments with her tears. Though he didn’t give a bloody damn about the state of his clothing, he hated each tear that fell from her, despised the sorrow she was feeling. The sorrow he had caused her.

His eyes flicked up to Tink, who stood by, patiently awaiting the anticipated command from his lips.

“Seal it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would now be a bad time to tell you that because of my birthday today, and a busy day tomorrow, it'll likely be a couple of days before the next chapter is ready??
> 
> Sorry?


	12. The Meadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a moment and thank you all for the wonderful comments, birthday wishes, and encouragements. I fell behind in replying to them all, but will try to be more diligent in doing so moving forward. Even though, I could never adequately express how much your feedback means to me!

* * *

“Seal it.”

Emma was only vaguely aware of the snapping, scraping, and creaking sounds coming from behind her as she wept into Killian’s chest. He continued to hold her, his hand running the length of her spine in a gentle motion as he spoke soft words of care into her hair, until her tears were spent and panic started to set in.

“W-What was that?” she sniffled, pulling back to wipe away the stubborn tears that determinedly clung to her cheeks. “The vines… how did they? How did I? Did I...?” She couldn’t finish the thought, her mind steadfastly refusing to acknowledge what she might have done in the garden. Her. Emma Swan. Wielding… magic?

“You have to tell her, Killian.”

Emma turned as best she could, still wrapped in Killian’s protective embrace, and her eyes landed on a slight blonde, adorned in green hues, sporting a pair of wings. Another Enchanted, Emma realized.

“Aye, I know,” Killian replied on a sigh.

“Tell me what? Who… who are you?”

The blonde smiled warmly and stepped forward. It was then that Emma took in the backdrop of the wicker covered arch, sealed by the vines in an elaborate and fortified pattern.

The Enchanted woman stopped just short of Emma and gave a small curtsy. “I am Tinkerbelle, milady. But you may call me Tink if you’d like.”

“You would give me your name so freely?” Emma gasped. “Why?”

Tink merely shrugged. “Killian trusts you with his name. That’s good enough for me.”

Emma gave her a grateful smile and offered her a respectable bow of her head before Killian cleared his throat. “Come, love.” He took her hand in his and started to lead them away from the arch. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Dawn will be cresting soon, Killian,” Tink called out as Emma followed him further into the forest. Killian gave a half-hearted wave to acknowledge he’d heard her, but said nothing more as they ventured through the streaks of moonlight breaking through the canopy above.

Emma was in awe. The forest in the Enchanted realm felt more alive than it had in hers. The trees breathed and swayed, the air swirled with particles of whimsy, and muffled voices whispered excitedly as she and Killian passed. She could feel a trembling in the atmosphere, a quiver unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It surrounded her, covered her, and seeped into her, becoming a part of her. She glanced at Killian and realized from the look of affection on his face he’d been watching her fondly as she absorbed the wonder around her.

Her heart swelled in response to that look and the trembling increased, spreading through her entire body, making her very skin react in anticipation. Of what, she could not say, but there were a great many other things she wished to voice in the moment. Before she could open her mouth to share them, he stopped their progress.

“We’re here.”

Emma’s lips parted with a sudden inhale. They stood on the fringe of a wide open meadow, littered with roses sprouting straight from the earth. The same roses Killian had gifted her days before. Tugging her hand, he prompted her to the center of the clearing then bent down to pick one of the tender blooms.

“We call them charming roses,” he said, holding the flower out towards her. “So named for the Enchanted who created them.”

“Charming?” Emma replied bemusedly, taking the rose from his hand and bringing it to her nose to drink in its rich scent.

“Well, his nickname, anyway.” Killian shrugged off his great coat and spread it upon the ground, gesturing for her to join him as he sat. “He was the prince I spoke of earlier.”

“The one who sacrificed his immortality?” Emma dropped down and settled herself beside Killian, eager for more of the tale.

“The same.” His fingers had found her hair again, idly twirling it while he spoke “He created these buds in honor of the child his Mortal love was to bear him. He had a special connection to the earth. A deft hand with vegetation and foliage. A trait and ability he seems to have passed on to his daughter,” his eyes shifted to hers and Emma nearly lost her breath at their intensity, “even though she is but half Enchanted.”

Emma’s heart thundered in her ears, the only part of her body that seemed capable of movement in that moment. When she finally remembered to breathe Killian’s hand moved to her cheek, his blue eyes now a piercing midnight as they searched her face, waiting for the fullness of his words to settle over her. She shook her head in denial. What he was saying couldn’t be true, and yet…

“Have you never wondered why the forest never frightened you as it did the others? Why you’ve always been drawn to cottage? You were born there, Swan. Your father built the cottage as a place he and your mother could share when he had leave to enter your realm. A place where they planned to raise you.”

“H-How? How is that possible? I’m not… no!” Emma stood and backed away. It was all too much to take in. Her? Some sort of magical being? The daughter of a… prince? No. She wasn’t anything special. She was nothing.

“You are _not_ nothing, Swan,” Killian admonished gently, suddenly on his feet before her, with his hands braced atop her shoulders. She hadn’t even realized she’d been speaking aloud. “You have _never_ been nothing. Not to them. Not to me.”

A familiar tightness gripped her chest, and fresh tears began to blur her vision. “What… what happened to them? My parents? Why did they… didn’t they want me?”

“Of course they did, love.” Killian brought her back into his embrace, holding her tight as she composed herself. “I’d never seen your father happier than when he’d shared the news of your impending arrival with me, and your mother… she was radiant in her joy.” Killian pulled back only as far as was necessary to look her in the face. “Never doubt that they loved you, Emma. You have always been wanted.”

Nodding, she gave him a watery smile before they returned to the pallet on the meadow floor. Killian laid back, and tucked a hand behind his head, before beckoning to her. Hesitantly, she tucked herself into his side, the intimacy of their position feeling as natural as breathing, and she was glad for its comfort.

“As I mentioned before, your father, Prince David, created the schism in order to protect the Mortals, including your mother, Snow. Remember how I said the worlds were connected at a core point?” Emma hummed that she did. “The forest is that core point, and the arch is the only gateway between our worlds. That’s why he built the cottage where he did, and placed a sentry to guard the arch.”

“You?” Emma tilted her head up to see his face and was again struck by his beauty as he looked down at her with a lopsided grin.

“Tink, actually,” he corrected. “I was charged with a different duty.”

“Which was?”

“You.”

“Me?”

His face grew grave, causing her heart to stutter. “Aye. Before they passed, your mother placed a bonded command on my name to watch over and protect you, and your father asked for my vow, which I gave freely. I promised to keep the cottage in my care until you were able to claim it for your own. My duty was fulfilled the moment you took possession of it.”

“How did they… pass?”

The shadow of darkness she’d seen pass over his features before, did so again as he seemed to fight with the memory.

“Your mother had a… _difficult_ labor. She was alone in the cottage when her pains began early in the morning, your father having already returned to our realm, and was forced to endure on her own. By the time your father could return, it was too late. The best he could do was deliver you safely, but your mother had suffered too much trauma, and there was not time to perform the necessary magic that might have saved her. With their shared heart, your father knew that her death would mean his as well. I just so happened to be in the garden, entering through the arch for... my own purposes, when I heard your wee cry. Curiosity got the better of me, fortunately, and I found them before they… Their last words were those of love for you, Emma.”

Killian turned his focus to the starry sky above them, giving her time with her thoughts while lightly stroking her arm with the pads of his fingers. It made sense to her now, the familiarity between them. He’d been watching over her all this time, since the day she’d been born. That presence she’d always sensed just beyond the treeline of the forest, the one she somehow knew was there and spoke to as a way of relieving her loneliness, it had always been him. Killian. The man her parents had entrusted her with when it became apparent they would not be able to take care of her themselves.

Emma had so many questions. Were there others like her? Half Enchanted, half Mortal? Why did Killian leave her in the Mortal realm? How had she come to be raised by the spinster, Ingrid? Did she really command the vines at the cottage? Why hadn’t she shown any sign of magical ability before?

The paragon of patience, Killian answered each and every question she posed, and even some she didn’t. Occasionally their conversation would turn to him, Emma brimming with just as many questions about Killian’s past as she had about her own. Though he never made her feel as if any inquiry were too personal, Emma did get the same sense she had in the garden earlier.

He was holding something back, and the closer they got to sunrise, the more apparent that became.


	13. The Decision

 

_“Blendeds. Those who are born half Enchanted and half Mortal are called Blendeds.”_

_“So, there are others?”_

_“Not many, but they have been known to exist.”_

~/~

_“They felt the Mortal realm was the safer option for you. Your father still had a number of enemies within the Enchanted realm. With only one access point, and a sentry standing guard, it was less likely anyone who might wish you harm would be able to get through.”_

_“Am I… am I in danger now? From Enchanteds?”_

_“The threat that existed when you were born is no longer an issue, love.”_

~/~

_“The Enchanted have no navy, as it was the old King’s wish, your grandfather’s wish, to keep the peace between our kinds. Mortals, however, always seem to be at war with one another. My brother and I fancied the idea of being seafarers. We were born in this forest, but both of us had a proclivity towards the water and wished to explore our connection with it. We had many grand adventures together, he and I.”_

_“What happened to him?”_

_“H-He died.”_

_“In the war?”_

_“No. Just before, actually... But let’s not mar our time together with the tale of it now.”_

_“Of course. I didn’t mean to pry.”_

~/~

_“Ingrid was a Blended, that’s why I chose her to raise you. Have you not noticed the lack of snow each winter since she passed? She always did have a way with the cold.”_

~/~

_“After the war, many of those who’d followed your uncle, James, went into hiding, including James. It took many years, but eventually all those who’d served him were brought to justice.”_

_~/~_

_“Your magic has always been there, Swan. The berries in the glen never prospered until you started coming there to pick them. The occurrences in your garden; the lack of decay in the roses, the rapid growth of the seedlings, the vines rising up to protect you and your home. That was all to do with you, love.”_

_~/~_

A war raged inside of Killian. The reminder Tink had given when they’d left the archway rang in his ears as he watched the stars traverse the sky above, the minutes ticking ever closer to dawn. Closer to the moment when Emma could be his forever, unable to return to the Mortal realm. But only if his darker nature could keep its resolve.

“What if I am not accepted here,” Emma murmured softly against his chest where her head continued to lay. “I was never accepted by the village. What if it is the same here?”

“Impossible,” Killian scoffed. “The village has never been able to accept that which their narrow minds could not comprehend. We are not so short-sided. I’ve no doubt you’ll be accepted here, love.”

“Really?” He felt her head tilt up and he glanced down to meet her eyes, hopeful and trusting, a hot coal of condemnation in his guilty soul.

“Aye, love. You belong here. You are one of us, more than you are one of them. This realm is your birthright,” he justified, more to himself than to her. Not that his words weren’t true, but their honesty didn’t stop the increased churning in his gut that both hastened and dreaded the coming of sunrise. “I think you could be happy here.”

“With you?”

Killian’s breath caught in his chest, the clawing desire he felt for her surging forward once again in the presence of her allure, her Enchanted allure. The leather of his coat creaked as he rolled them, his Swan’s golden tresses fanned out beneath her, her eyes looking up adoringly as his arms caged her in from above. He shunted the nagging voice crying out _bad form_ and lowered his body until he was pressed against her soft form with his forearms bracing his full weight from crushing her. Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped her lips, but she offered no protest. When her gaze flicked to his lips, he was utterly lost to her.

Soft and supple and more responsive than they’d been the last time, her lips danced against his without a hint of hesitation. When his tongue begged for entrance at the seam of her lips, her easy compliance had him groaning into her mouth as he savored the flavor of her. His body came alive from the way she moved beneath him, stretching out her arms to wrap around him, her legs shifting so one of his could nestle between her skirts allowing him to even more contact to her person. Contact that was all together too much and not nearly enough.

Her hand slipped into his hair, first toying with the bits that hung along the nape of his neck then threading through the strands at the back. In much need of air, Killian broke away from Emma’s lips and placed feather light kisses along her jaw, moving toward her ear. Her fingers continued to sift through his locks until they met the bony protrusion of his horns, and her body shook beneath him as a giggle made its way up her throat.

“Something amusing, love?” he purred in her ear, delighting in her mirth.

“No, no. It’s just,” her giggle finally erupted, pulling a grin from him as he nipped lightly on her ear lobe, “these will still take some getting use to.” Her fingers curled around one of his horns, tugging against it slightly for emphasis.

“They do not bother you, though, do they?”

“Of course not,” she assured him with a smile in her voice. “Nothing about you could ever bother me. I’m a fan of every part of you.”

A shock of cold reality doused Killian, forcing him to rear back. Emma’s brows pulled together, a flush of pink covered her skin, which he could make out clearly in the steady glow of the approaching daylight. _What the bloody hell am I doing?_ The hot coal of guilt and churning of shame fought for purchase in his stomach as he took in his Swan’s expression of unadulterated trust and acceptance. Neither of which he deserved. He did not deserve her, and she deserved far better than him, better than having her fate decided for her through deception.

It wasn’t too late, though.

“Killian? What’s wrong? Have I… have I done something wrong?”

“No, Swan,” he whispered. “The wrong here is not your doing.”

“Hey,” she soothed, sitting up and placing a hand at his cheek, “I know there are things you’re holding back, things you aren’t telling me.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with the press of her fingertips against his lips. “And that’s okay. You can tell me in your own time, for I choose to see the best in you.”

Breath stuttered in his chest and tears stung his eyes. He stood and offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet when she clasped onto it. “Thank you, Swan.” It was all he could think of to say before picking up his coat and leading her out of the meadow.

She went without question, though he could sense her ponderings with each brisk footfall. When Tink and the still sealed arch came into view, she stopped short and pulled her hand from his.

“I don’t understand. You’re sending me back? I… I thought you said I belonged here? That I was one of you?”

“You are, Swan.” He cupped her face in his hands, committing every freckle, every detail of her exquisite face to memory, knowing full well this might be the last time he’d ever have the pleasure of looking upon it. “Enchantment exists in your very skin, Swan. In each strand of your golden hair, right down to your bones and into the deepest dredges of your being. But so does mortality.” He swallowed heavily and breathed deeply in preparation for the first of many confessions he owed her. “If you do not return to the Mortal realm by sunrise, you’ll be trapped in the Enchanted realm for all of eternity.”

He waited for her outrage, her indignation over the realization that he’d planned to distract her long enough for the sun to rise, sealing her fate every bit as much as the archway was now. But true to form, Emma surprised him.

“But… what if I want to stay?” Killian stared at her, shaking his head in disbelief, which only spurred her on in an effort to convince him. “I have nothing left in my realm. The villagers all hate me.” She took his hands in hers, squeezing them firmly as her tone took on an edge of pleading. “Let me stay. Please. I want to… I want to stay... with you.”

“Hearing those words from your lips is like music to my ears, love.” He brought her hands up to his mouth, brushing his lips across the back of her knuckles while turning them so her back now faced the arch. His heart screamed in protest for what he was about to do, but he knew he must. “But it is also a knife to my chest, for I know you would not make such a choice if you knew the truth. The truth of what manner of… _man_ I truly am. I’ve known great darkness in my life, am capable of it still. You may choose to claim the Enchanted realm as your rightful home someday, but I would not have you stay because of me, believing I am something I am not.” He threaded his fingers through her hair one last time then lightly cupped her face just under her jaw, his eyes fixed on hers, wishing to impart the full sincerity of his final words to her as he spoke them. “I love you too much to trap you that way.”

Emma gasped and her chest labored against a swell of emotion. Before she could form a reply, Killian looked over her shoulder, his full attention on Tink as he commanded, “Make sure she gets through the portal in time.”

“No!” Emma shouted, grabbing hold of him, expecting him to walk away and leave her, and neglecting to notice the vines as they disentangled themselves from one another and began slithering their way towards her. “You think I don’t know that you’ve known darkness? That I haven’t sensed it in you, seen it pass over your visage as you shared carefully constructed anecdotes of your past? Whatever it is you’ve done, I know we can overcome it. Together.”

“I wish that were true, love.” His jaw tightened and his eyes fell shut. Her cries of surprise as the vines began wrapping themselves around her, pulling her towards the arch filled his ears and sliced through his chest.

“Killian, please! Please, don’t do this.”

With a flick of her wrist Tink beset sleep upon her, staying her struggles and allowing the vines to gently carry her through the arch just as the sun began to flood her garden with light.

“You did the right thing, Killian,” Tink said softly, placing a light hand on his shoulder.

“Aye, but…” _The right thing. I have to do the right thing. I owe her that much at least._ “I have to fix it. The village. The children. I have to fix it.”

“Killian,” Tink hedged cautiously, “you know that is not possible.”

“It has to be!” he shouted, the maelstrom of emotions he’d kept at bay storming forward in a surge of fury, despair, and determination. “There has to be a way to free them. You know the old magic better than anyone, Tink. There has to be someth-” He watched as a look of significance passed over her face before she could smother it. “There is, isn’t there?” he challenged. “Tell me.”

“No, Killian. The price is far too high.”

“I don’t give a bloody damn what the price is!” Killian roared. “Even if it costs me my life, I _have_ to fix this. Please, Tink. Help me fix it.”

Tink released a deep sigh, a grim look of concession upon her face. “Very well, Killian. I’ll help you make things right.”


	14. The Confession

When Emma awoke she found herself under a protective canopy of vines, shielding her from the elements that were much in keeping with her outlook. Rain lashed and wind whipped, the atmosphere heavy with an outpouring of despair while thrashing out its grievances. Once Emma was fully conscious she pondered whether or not these manifestations actually were a direct reflection of her current state. Could she be causing the havok swirling around her? The inner workings of her being, the part of herself that was Enchanted in nature, could it have called upon the elements to unleash the emotions she’d been unable to in her sleep?

No sooner had the thought taken up root than the winds began to die down and the rain slowed to a patter. Emma crawled out from her dry sanctuary, muddying her garments as she knelt before the still sealed archway. She tried to call upon the magic she now knew resided within her, but she had no idea how to initiate its response. Previous instances of its workings had happened without cognizant thought, and no amount of applied force of her will could get the fortifying branches to budge from the portal.

“Killian!” she shouted, her hands clawing at the vines, to no avail. “Tink! Please! Please!”

She collapsed onto the sodden ground, hot tears of anguish and anger burning against her lids before slipping past to roll down her cheeks. _No_ , she sniffled, wiping furiously against their wetness. She had shed enough tears. Now was the time for action. Sunset wasn’t for several more hours yet. If she focused, perhaps she could get a handle on her magic before the realms aligned, allowing her open the archway. Killian owed her an explanation. She did not doubt he believed he’d done the right thing by her, but she was weary of the unbalance when it came to the knowledge he possessed in comparison to her ignorance.

How was she to form a proper opinion, a proper response, a proper decision - and it was her decision to make - on whether or not she’d been wrong about him if she did not have all of the pertinent facts? There may not have been time for him to offer up a full confession before dawn had arrived, but Emma would do all she could to make sure when the sun set he could no longer bar her from the realm he’d insisted was her birthright. She would maximize each hour of the approaching night to sate her curiosity and make her own decision of which realm she wished to belong.

During her preparations, Emma discovered the vines had released their hold over the cottage and had created a briar hedged barrier along the perimeter of her property. Was it to keep her in, or intruders out, she wondered, and began to test its responsiveness to her concentrated cogitations. After many hours of practice, she finally identified the quivering that trembled deep within, the one that had rooted itself to her innermost being while she’d roamed the Enchanted realm with Killian. When accessed it rippled like displaced waters of a still pond when a pebble was thrown into it, stretching outward from the point of contact with fluid malleability to conform itself to her will.

The briars and brambles parted outside her front courtyard, the creaking of their timbers the only protest to her newly acquired mastery over the quivering she now knew to be the Enchanted part of herself. With the vines’ obedience well in hand, Emma made her way back to the garden and focused her concentration on the archway. The ripples of her magic crashed against the arch, and the exertion upon the quivering left her with a physical tremor coursing through her body, yet the vines would not give.

“You cannot deny me access forever, Tink!” she shouted, unsure if the Enchanted sentry could even hear her, though she knew this had to be Tink’s magic. She’d been the one to seal the portal in the first place, the one who had caused the vines to take hold of her, returning her to the Mortal realm before daylight could touch the arch, all at Killian’s command.

Killian’s command.

Why would the sentry the prince, her father, had placed to guard the portal, effectively leaving them in control of who could and could not access it, take such commands from Killian? Emma was starting to feel as though she knew less of him now than she did when he was simply her _neighbor._

Momentarily defeated, Emma turned with the intention of waiting in her cottage until night fell to see if she could persuade Tink to open the barrier, when her eyes landed on a scrolled parchment tied with a very familiar length of velvet on the garden bench. With the pages unfurled before her, Emma took her usual seat upon the stone surface and began reading the words that would decide her heart’s fate

_My Dearest Swan,_

_I know I have no right to call you my dearest, not after all I have done, but as it is the least of my offenses, I am sure you shall overlook it once the fullness of this confession has reached its end._

_I meant it when I said I am not the man you believe me to be; one that is honorable with promptings and compulsions towards that which is right and just. Would that you had known my brother, Liam, for he was always the nobler one. He was the one whose heart sought justice whilst mine sought vengeance, it was under his guidance and influence that I had hoped to become a man of honor one day. Unfortunately, my compulsions have always lent themselves towards darker promptings._

_You see, I am not one of the Enchanteds that held with the beliefs of the benevolent king, your grandfather. Ever since Mortals caused the death of my mother, my view of humans has been soured at best. It was her death, and my dissatisfaction at the_ justice _that was meted out against the villagers responsible, that prompted Liam to suggest we take our fortunes to the sea. I believe it was his hope that building camaraderie with Mortals whom we served with might curb my growing animosity towards their kind. It very well might have, had fate not designed the death of the king when it had._

_By the time we returned to the forest to pay our respects, hostilities between the Mortals and the Enchanteds had nearly reached their breaking point. The line had been drawn, with our kind taking sides between your father and your uncle’s ideals. Naturally, Liam believed as your father did, that peace could and should be maintained between our kinds, but he was never given the opportunity to cast his lot in with the prince._

_Liam was lured into the village where an ambush awaited him, the villagers had declared open season on Enchanteds whom they felt were a threat to their livelihood, blaming us for the drought they’d experienced. My brother died in my arms, and with his passing, any amount of charity I might have found towards Mortals was buried with him. I do not offer this as any sort of excuse for what came next, only as a basis of understanding for how my grief fed the darker nature I had fought so hard to suppress. After Liam’s death, I cast my lot with your uncle, relishing the chance to make all Mortals pay for what they had done to my family._

_I will spare you the gruesome details of my services during the war, love. Just know that they were reprehensible and numerous. I wish I could I say I had been at the mercy of deplorable orders from an unconscionable man, but truth be told, I gave my obedience willingly. Many of the directives inadvertently allowed me to take out vengeance against the village in small but ruthless measures, and I believed my loyalty would be rewarded at the end of the conflict in the form of its utter destruction._

_Though I came close to the precipice several times, fate in its fickle nature pulled me back from fully succumbing to my darkness by revealing an even darker truth. Though my brother’s death had been at the villagers’ hands, the orchestration of his ambush had been composed by the very Enchanted to whom I had sworn my loyalty. James knew he would never gain Liam’s allegiance, but had sense my vacillation on the matter of Mortals. He had my brother murdered in order to drum up sympathizers to his cause and garner my oath, knowing he could manipulate me to do his vile bidding._

_With nothing more to lose after this revelation, I went to your father and shared all that I knew of James’ strategies. He had me imprisoned as a war criminal, and I most certainly did not blame him. Once my intel proved itself true and turned the tide of the war, your father believed my account, and even went as far as to apologize on his brother’s behalf for the fate of mine._

_After James was deposed and fled into hiding, David offered me a full pardon with one stipulation - I release my vendetta against the village. I gave him my word that I would not seek vengeance against the villagers, instead channeling my rage to the task of rounding up those who had served James, in order to bring them to justice._

_It was during this time, I discovered a sinister plot. Rumors had begun to circulate that the prince had taken a wife in secret. Upon her life was set a large bounty, no doubt ordered by James. It was this direct threat that caused your father to create the schism. I confess to having felt betrayed when I learned he’d taken a Mortal as a bride, for under Enchanted law, no Blended can ascend the throne, and given the sacrifice he’d made, David would not be guaranteed a long reign by Enchanted standards, leaving the option open for James to reclaim the throne._

_Fond as I was of your mother, I stewed in my bitterness for many months over the selfishness I attributed to your father’s actions. The root of that bitterness bloomed one night when I willfully entered the Mortal realm, intending to exact my revenge on the village, justifying the breaking of my vow on how they had begun to treat Snow for living so close to the forest. It was this night that you were born, and charged into my care. Your father asked for my vow, believing he could trust my word, oblivious to the fact that I had broken my previous vow to him, even if only through intent. The shame that overwhelmed me in that moment caused the air to go still, nearly taking the final breaths of your parents and briefly silencing your cry._

_That night I did not just vow to watch over and protect you, I vowed to be the man I wanted to be. A man of honor. It has not been easy. There were many times I had to curb my instincts to lash out against those who had caused you pain, but you made me want to be better than I am, love._

_I wanted to be better a man for you, Swan. You deserve that. Someone honorable like my brother, or noble like your father, but I fear the bar they set is far too high, and all I’ll ever do is fail you, and myself. For indeed, I already have._

_The villagers attacked you last night because of my actions. I used their cruelty towards you as justification to finally enact the revenge I’ve craved for centuries. I stole their children in the dead of night, forever sealing them in the Enchanted realm, as I had planned to do with you, then cast a spell that would inhibit the villagers from moving about until I could return. That was the matter I told you I had to attend to when I left the garden last night._

_I will not share what I had planned, for I cannot bring myself to voice it even on this parchment. Be assured that I have since relinquished my scheme, and with Tink’s help, I believe I have found a way to return the children._

_I am under no allusions that any of this will atone for the atrocities I have committed, nor grant me favor in your sight. I had wanted to win your heart without trickery, and though I have always been honest in my estimations of you, I acknowledge to having manipulated circumstances to my own ends. I only hope that if you have the inclination to think of me, you will remember me as the man I wished to be… a man of honor._

_One day, I hope you are able to forgive me for what I’ve done, and for what I am about to do._

_Yours Always,_

_Killian_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I got behind on replies again. Hubs got home today, so I've been a bit... distracted. Sorry?
> 
> But seriously, thank you for all your comments!!


	15. The Price

Words blurred under the splashes of her tears as they hit the parchment. Her heart ached from the strain of emotions it had been forced to endure. Each emotion clamoured over the other in a bout for prominence that left her feeling hollow, until the finality of his words sent a current of fear through her before dropping a weight of dread into her stomach.

Emma shut her eyes, closing herself off from the garden as she tried to process the confession Killian had scribed. He’d been correct. He had known great darkness, born out of great heartache. If she knew nothing else of her Enchanted brethren, their ability to feel, to internalize, to bear great weights of emotions within themselves was one she understood all too well. Killian had experienced tragic loss and wretched betrayal, and though she agreed they were no excuse, they were a basis of discernment by which she could establish her own opinion.

The amount of transgressions he’d confessed to in his letter were indeed great in their scale and number, but how does one measure them against a man who has lived for centuries? Who was she to judge him for a ledger of accounts he’d already reconciled and received pardon for? Pardon from her very own father, who’d trusted him enough to watch over and protect her.

As far as Emma was concerned, any ill deed committed by Killian’s hand prior to her birth had been dealt with justly. She would not require him to seek absolution for that which had already been forgiven. No. The matter before her now, was whether she could forgive his actions towards her and the village.

Reprehensible as it was to steal a child, she could not fault him for the impetus to strike against those he’d long held accusation against. Nor could she hold his desire to keep her with him in any sort of contempt, when she had wished for such an outcome as well. Though, he’d planned to do it through deception, certain she would not choose him otherwise, he had not lacked the strength of conviction when the moment of decision had arrived. This made him weak in his self estimation, not guilty of deception.

Nor did he lack the conviction to try and make amends for his actions, even as he believed it could never redeem himself in her sight. What he failed to consider was that all sins could be forgiven when you love someone. Astonishing as that truth might be, Emma could not deny what her heart held within its rhythm. She loved Killian. Despite the evil he’d done, and the darkness he’d allowed to entice him into those actions, Emma loved him and knew he was capable of being the man of honor he wanted to be, the same man of honor he’d always been to her.

But what would such honor cost?

Emma’s eyes snapped open at the sound of rustling and looked on in relief as the vines crept back to their usual place along the arch. Darkness had fallen without her realization, and she wasted no time in crossing the threshold to the Enchanted realm.

“Killian?!” she cried out. Unsure of where to run first, and noting that Tink was absent from her post, panic swelled within her. The only location of which she knew the way was the meadow. Her feet flew along the forest path, refusing to relent in their haste until she’d reached the clearing.

“Killian?” she called out again, but could sense the meadow’s emptiness save for the roses.

It made no sense. Why open the portal, allowing her access to the Enchanted realm, only to avoid her? Unless…

_I am such a fool!_

The archway had not opened for her benefit, but for his. Whatever his plan for returning the children, it must include access to the village, or the Mortal realm at the very least. He must have known she would be waiting for him in the garden, knew he’d have to find a way past her, and she’d left that course wide open by running headlong through the portal.

Her chest screamed in protest for want of air, and her legs burned from yet another sprint through the uneven terrain when she finally made her way back to the arch. Breathless as she was, it didn’t stop her from releasing a sigh of relief that the vines remained clear of the opening. Crossing back over the threshold, she stopped short of the side gate when she heard her name called out.

“Emma!” Tink exclaimed as she passed through the archway. “You must summon him! You must stop him!”

“Stop him from what? What does he mean to do?”

“There’s no time to explain. You must summon him. Now!”

The words caught in her throat for a brief moment before tumbling off her tongue. “Killian, I summon thee!”

A swirl of red smoke engulfed the area next to her, revealing Killian as it dissipated. He looked about, obviously stunned to be standing in her garden, but not nearly as stunned as Emma was at seeing something red and glowing, with billows of black dancing through its center in the palm of his hand. Was that his…

“Swan?” His gaze bounced from her to Tink, a sneer of outrage pulling at his lips as he growled at his fellow Enchanted. “What have you done?”

“Hopefully, stopped you from doing something foolish,” Tink snapped.

“You cannot stop me, Tink.”

“No. But Emma can.”

At her words Killian began to squeeze the object in his hand, crying out in agony as he increased the pressure, and without thought Emma shouted, “Killian, stop!”

His face contorted in rage and pain, gritting his teeth together as he was forced to comply with her command upon his name. “You don’t understand, Swan. This is the only way.”

“What? What is the only way? One of you, please, tell me what is happening!”

Killian continued to glower at Tink, but the blonde paid him no mind as she stepped forward to address Emma’s question.

“The children are trapped in the Enchanted realm because of the schism. In order to free them, the schism would have to be reversed, rejoining our realms into one world.”

Emma’s mouth fell open. “Is such a thing even possible?”

“It is,” Tink acknowledged reluctantly. “But the magic requires a high price.”

“What price?” Emma’s voiced trembled against the question she feared she already knew the answer to.

“Tink,” Killian warned with an infinitesimal shake of his head.

“A life. More precisely, the life of the sovereign.”

“The sovereign? But… in your letter,” she turned to Killian, casting confused eyes upon him even as he refused to meet her gaze, “you said Blendeds could not ascend, and with my father gone that leaves only James to-”

“James is dead,” Killian clipped, his eyes now shut tight as if he were forcing away a memory.

“After your father died, Killian knew the threat James posed to the realms… and to you. He challenged him, as your father’s second in command, and defeated him in combat. Though he refused to accept the crown, Killian is considered this realm’s sovereign by many. Including me. I believe,” she flicked her eyes to Killian who still refused to meet either of their gazes. At least. Not until after the words that followed, “over the past several days, he began to consider how you might be able to take your rightful place after all… ruling at his side.”

“Is that true?” Emma questioned, her heart thundering as she willed his eyes to look upon her.

“Aye,” he lamented. “I know I should have told you, included this all in my letter, but I didn’t think it mattered now. Not in light of what must be done.”

_In light of what must be done?_ Emma gasped as realization flooded her understanding. The children. The schism. The price. His life.

“No! Killian, no. You can’t do this!”

“I must,” he argued, then finally turned his gaze to hers with pleading in his eyes. “I have to repair the damage I’ve done. Please, Swan. Release the bonded command upon my name, and let me do this. There is no other way.”

“Actually. There is,” Tink interjected, drawing Killian’s ire to her once more, which she faced head on. “You know there is.”

“No.” The muscle in Killian’s jaw ticked wildly, and his body seized with tension.

“What other way? Tell me,” Emma demanded.

“He could do as your father did,” Tink replied with a tone of gentle reverence. Her devotion to the departed prince clear in its timbre. “Sacrifice his immortality instead. As far as the magic is concerned, the weight of the sacrifice is the same. It would still mean his life, just not immediately. In order to do this, however, he would require-”

“A mortal heart to tie himself to.”


	16. The End (and The Beginning)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. The final chapter. I cannot thank y’all enough for coming on this little journey with me. I’ve had a blast writing and posting this over the past two weeks. Props and thanks to @write-it-motherfuckers for sharing the post which originally inspired the fic. Also, massive hugs to my amazing beta @ilovemesomekillianjones - girl, you rock! Finally, much love to @cocohook38 for the fabulous art pieces she gifted me with. Go flail at her on Tumblr. She deserves it!
> 
> Because I know the question is already being posed in your minds before you’ve even read a word of the chapter, the answer is... maybe. No promises, though!

 

* * *

“He could do as your father did,” Tink replied with a tone of gentle reverence. Her devotion to the departed prince clear in its timbre. “Sacrifice his immortality instead. As far as the magic is concerned, the weight of the sacrifice is the same. It would still mean his life, just not immediately. In order to do this, however, he would require-”

“A mortal heart to tie himself to,” Emma whispered knowingly.

“No,” Killian bit out. “I can’t ask that of you. Not after all I’ve done. I won’t.”

Emma’s heart ached for him. Shame and self-loathing rolled off his countenance, which remained determinedly set, the object in his hand - his heart, Emma had come to realize - held tight at the ready for the moment she might release the bonds holding him back.

“You’re not asking.” Emma stepped towards him and placed a hand over the one that held his heart while the other cupped his cheek. “I’m offering. Let me do this, Killian,” she pleaded, emotions constricting around the words as they caught in her throat. “I… I don’t want to lose you.”

“And I don’t want to lose you,” he breathed, resisting the temptation to nuzzle into the caress of her touch, his resolve beginning to crumble before her eyes, “but how could you want to tie yourself to me? Knowing the the atrocities I’ve committed?” Steely obstinance snapped back into his eyes, and his head turned away from her hand. “I could not abide my darkness tarnishing you in any way, and I cannot guarantee I will not succumb to it again. You’ve no idea how easy it is to fall back into.”

“But I can guarantee,” she grasped his chin with a firm yet gentle touch and coaxed him to look at her once more, “that I will be there for you as you’ve always been there for me, supporting and encouraging you to make the right decision, and loving you through the mistakes. You know what kind of man you want to be, the man you thought you’d lost. Let me help you reclaim him, as you help me claim my true nature.” Emma’s hand fell from his chin and both their eyes widened with the same sudden thought. “My nature…” Emma spun around and cast imploring eyes onto Tink. “Will it still work even though I’m half Enchanted?”

“I’m not entirely sure, to be honest,” Tink stated. “Your magic has not fully matured, which suggests you are still more Mortal than Enchanted.”

“Fully matured?”

“When our magic is fully established, our distinguishing features become realized,” Killian explained. “Horns sprout, wings unfurl, a change of pallor or complexion might cover ones body, or a tail, even fins can manifest themselves.

“We also stop aging,” Tink added. “The maturation of the magic changes the beat of our heart to one of immortality. You do not yet have an Enchanted feature, and you appear to still be aging. Indeed, you may never take on those Enchanted traits, most Blendeds do not... still, it is a risk. For you both.”

“And not one I’m willing to take,” Killian declared. His face was like flint, illuminated in a red hue from the glowing of his heart, and his body became as rigid as the horns that distinguished his nature.

“Well, I am,” Emma countered, with equal willfulness as she spun around to face him again. The look in his forget-me-not gaze softened the unbending rod of determination she’d set within herself. A look of fear and pleading, one that implored her to not force his hand, beseeching her to release the restriction she’d placed on him, but also one tinged with a desperate hope, fighting against the fatalistic storm gusting behind his eyes. “Please, Killian,” Emma sighed softly, forming her words not into a command, but a request. “Let us at least try.”

“Why?” His eyes roamed her face, the glow of his heart now casting a blushed hue over his features as he stared at her in wonder. “Why would you risk your life like this? For me?”

“Don’t you know, Killian?” Emma asked, reaching up onto her toes and resting her forehead against his own before confessing on a whisper, “I love you.”

Breath whooshed from Killian’s lungs. “And I you. But… my letter. The things I’ve done.”

“I forgive you, Killian,” Emma told him. “I love you, no matter what you’ve done. Now it is time for you to forgive yourself.”

He gave her a stilted nod, a smile of surrendered acceptance tugging at his lips as he pulled back from her. “Aye, love. We’ll do it your way. If you’re sure.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she affirmed, and for the first time since the meadow, a genuine smile of happiness lit his features, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“We’ll need Emma’s heart in order to complete the ritual,” Tink reminded, startling Emma who’d forgotten she was even there.

“Right,” Emma replied with a rush of heat rising up her neck from having such an intimate scene witnessed. “How do I, uh…”

“Do you trust me, love?”

“Of course.”

“Then allow me.”

The shock of his hand reaching into her chest cavity was surpassed only by the uncomfortable tug she felt as he gently removed her heart. It glowed even brighter than his, with no dark swirls swimming in its depth. Her lips parted at the odd hollow sensation left behind even as echoes of her emotions, the love that had swelled inside of her just moments ago reverberated from within.

“Are you alright, love?”

Emma shook off the strange sensation and took a deep, calming breath. “Yes. I’m alright. What, uh… what do we do now?”

“Face one another,” Tink instructed as she stepped forward to officiate the ritual. “First, you need to release his bonded command, Emma.”

Emma faced Killian, her eyes locking onto his, neither wavering as Tink led them through the procedures. “I release you, Killian. You are free to do whatever is necessary.”

Killian’s shoulders tightened before his entire posture relaxed, a grateful and forgiving expression passing between them.

“Now,” Tink continued. “Killian, repeat after me.”

Tink led them both through a series of statements and vows, relinquishing their autonomy, while agreeing to willfully bind themselves to one another. The moment became something of a different kind of ceremony all together; one that would have otherwise cast Emma as a bride and Killian, her groom. She supposed the commitment they were making there in her garden was not all that different.

“Say it again, Emma,” Killian urged after their vows had been traded and each of them held their respective hearts in their hand.

“I love you, Killian.”

Whether this moment declared them husband and wife or not, Emma felt it only proper to seal such declarations with a demonstration of that love. After all, kisses were meant to bring luck, and knowing what was to come next in relation to their physical hearts, Emma would gladly take whatever good fortune she could.

Sensing her intentions, or perhaps prompted by his own desires, Killian met her halfway, the press of his lips to hers filled with the weight of their declarations and… something more.

The quivering concussed within her, sending a tidal wave through the ripples which burst forth from the union of their kiss. An equal crest of magic, originating from within Killian joined with hers before erupting in a united cascade of colors that rippled outward through the garden and beyond. The prismatic wave stretched in all directions, snapping the edges of reality back into place as if they’d been just slightly off kilter. When the trembling of the quiver subsided, Emma opened her eyes to see Killian’s astonished blues staring back at her.

“I can’t believe that actually worked!” exclaimed an equally astonished Tink from beside them, pulling their bewildered attention to her.

“What worked?” Killian exasperated. “What the bloody hell was that, Tink?”

“It wasn’t a spell,” the Enchanted woman blurted, excitement stealing any coherent pattern to her babbled words. “What the prince cast wasn’t a spell! I suspected as much, but so little is known of its origin that I couldn’t be sure. I just knew that if I was right, then the requirement of the price _could_ be voided _if_ , but it’s so rare, I wasn’t even sure if-”

“Tink!” they shouted together, ceasing the woman’s ramblings.

“What are you bloody well going on about?”

“It was a curse. Not a spell. Both require rituals, and ingredients, and most often times the magic comes with a price, especially should you wish to reverse a spell, but a curse… curses cannot be reversed. They have to be broken.”

“And we… we broke it?” Emma said in awe. “How?”

A conspiratorial smile of mischief pulled at Tink’s lips and arched along her brow. “With a True Love’s Kiss.”

Emma stood reeling. True Love? Such a thing only ever occurred in legends and fairy tales. Didn’t it?

“Are you sure?” Killian questioned. Though Emma was struggling with the same doubts that their love for one another could possibly have been strong enough to break a curse, hearing the uncertainty in his voice stung, and her face must have betrayed that fact. “Don’t misunderstand, Swan. I know you love me, and I love you, more than anything, but True Love is… well it’s-”

“The rarest and most powerful magic of all,” Tink finished smugly before taking each of their hearts in hand and placing them back within their respective chests. “Go on, then. Test it. If I’m right then you haven’t just realigned our realms permanently, you’ve also lifted all the restrictions placed on us after the war, which means Emma should no longer have power over your name.”

“Command me to do something, Swan. Let’s see if she’s right.”

Emma’s mind went blank, unable to come up with a single thing until her mouth blurted, “Killian, kiss me!”

His brow quirked as a smirk lifted in tandem, a sultry gleam sparkling in his darkened azures as he playfully quipped, “I’d gladly do that without command, love. Though I am getting rather fond of your bossy side.” His face morphed, his roguish facade giving way to one of stunned realization.

“You can refuse, can’t you?” Tink inquired. “You may not want to, but you could. Yeah?”

“Aye,” he confirmed with a wide grin. “I could. But I believe I promised to never refuse an invitation from your lips, didn’t I my love?”

Emma’s smile stretched as wide as his. “I believe you did.”

Cognizant of their audience, the kiss remained light and chaste while simmering with promises of later. Shouts and footfall drew their attention to the forest where a number of small figures could be seen approaching the treeline. One not much bigger than they, with the visage of a boyish nature, but clearly an Enchanted, as evidenced by the horns upon his head, hovered at the archway.

“You’re not dead,” he called out.

Emma’s brows pulled together in indignation over the tint of dissatisfaction in his voice, but Killian merely chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you, Pan. I am, indeed, not dead.”

“But… we thought? The wave of colors… did it not-?”

“Step around from the arch and see for yourself,” Tink advised, motioning him, and the village children who followed, to crossover without the use of the portal.

Cheers of delight echoed out from the trees after the first brave child stepped across the boundary, followed by the rest who rushed off towards the village.

“What will happen now?” Emma asked warily. “With the villagers? With the realms united? Mortals and Enchanteds living side by side again?”

“I suppose you’ll have to figure that out as you go… _Your Majesty_ ,” the puckish Enchanted, Pan, said as he bowed low before her.

Tink clucked her tongue beside him. “Might I remind you that Killian is sovereign?”

“He’s never been _my_ sovereign,” Pan cheeked. “If I had my choice, I’d pledged my loyalty to the prince’s daughter before that dirty pirate.”

“Dirty?”

“Pirate?”

Killian and Emma scoffed in unison.

“Blendeds cannot ascend,” Tink reminded. “Their mortality prohibits that.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem then,” Pan shrugged. “If those are any indication.”

Tink and Killian followed the trajectory of Pan’s gesturing hand, their eyes widening in shock and awe. Emma could feel an unfamiliar shudder along her shoulders, like a cloak caught in a stiff wind flapping along one’s back. In her periphery, a gossamer thin, shimmer appeared, similar in substance to Tink’s…

“Wings?” Emma exclaimed. “I have wings!”

Killian beamed with pride, wonder, and the longing of love as he pulled her into his arms. “I always knew you had more than just a little Enchanted in you, Swan,” he teased before nuzzling her nose with his.

Emma giggled, her joy and delight bubbling from within as it never had before. “I suppose this means you’ll have to put up with me longer than you’d planned, seeing as I’m immortal now.”

“Aye, my love,” he murmured, laying a soft kiss at her lips. “Though, I can assure you, even forever will not be nearly long enough for me.”

The End


	17. The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my Expand the Verse Follower Appreciation Event fics. This one was selected by the fabulous @ilovemesomekillianjones who insisted she needed more cottage (and some smut). Note the official upgrade to the rating, and enjoy!

* * *

Emma stood trembling, awaiting Killian in her softly sunlit bedroom as the early morning rays cast a warm glow around her. To say it had been a long night would be an understatement. Confessions, declarations, revelations, intentions of sacrifice, a true love’s kiss, and the reuniting of two realms that had once been torn asunder by a curse should have left Emma feeling drained and exhausted. What had followed certainly should have made her desperate for respite, but all Emma felt now was elation. Elation, and a bit of exhilarated anxiety, perhaps.

Other Enchanteds had made their way to her garden after the ripple of magic that had repaired the Schism traversed its way throughout both realms. Though astonished, they had presented themselves before her and Killian with reverence. However, much like Tink and Pan, each of them seemed to favor their allegiance to one over the other. Emma hoped, with time, those loyalties might become united as she and Killian took equal reign over their kind, something she hadn’t even yet been able to express to Killian. His refusal to accept the crown all those years ago lent evidence to his belief that he was unworthy of it; she too felt undeserving and ill-suited to such a position, but for better or worse it was her birthright, and there was no one she wished to share the burden and challenge of sovereignty with more than her true love.

Especially since she had no idea where to even begin.

Fortunately, her love had proven himself quite capable of the task just within those first few hours, wasting no time in assigning roles and tasks to those who had congregated. Messengers were sent in all directions to spread the news and explain the reunification of the realms. Emissaries were dispatched to the various Mortal rulers, requesting a summit be arranged so all the powers that be could meet in peace to discuss their new reality. Emma knew they were in for many chaotic days ahead, but when the sun crept its way across the garden as dawn crested, the glow of its beams kissing the face of her love for the first time in too many years, she knew whatever lay ahead would be worth the trial and turmoil if it meant sharing both day and night with Killian. Forever.

Where they would share that forever had become a bit of a debate.

_“You should take her to the castle,” Tink insisted. “It’s where you both belong, and where the Mortal monarchs will be expecting to seek your audience.”_

_“The cottage is Emma’s home,” Killian countered. “Her entire world has already been flipped upside down, and will only become more disorienting. I won’t take her from the place that helps her feel grounded.”_

_“What castle?” Emma inquired while attempting to keep her agitation under control. It had not been the first time she’d been regarded and discussed as if she were not present._

_“Forgive me, love,” Killian said with chagrin, realizing the rudeness of his and Tink’s behavior. “Your father’s castle. It lies on the other side of the forest, beside the sea.”_

_Emma shook her head in wonderment. She may never get used to this new reality._

_“It’s your castle now,” Tink argued. “Yours and Killian’s. And it is far more suitable to your station than the cottage. These first few days will be crucial in establishing our place in the newly united realm. You can’t hold court, or receive the Mortal kings here. What would that say about us?”_

_“That we have no wish to lord our nature over Mortals, and want only to live alongside our neighbors in humility and peace,” Emma stated fervently, drawing surprised stares from those who remained, and a beaming grin of pride from Killian. “It’s true that the cottage is not suited for the day to day governing of our kind, and eventually we shall relocate to the castle. For now, however, I feel it would be wiser to present ourselves in a more approachable setting; one that will offset the Enchanted features that might prove unsettling to those who are unaccustomed to their appearance.”_

_A beat of stunned silence followed her words, and with it, the flush of self doubt began to creep over her skin. Killian’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his side with his look of pride still shining from his features._

_“I believe your Sovereign, my wonderfully wise and clever wife, has made her decision. For now, we remain at the cottage.”_

_Emma’s heart swelled, and the flush of doubt became a heated wash of something that pulsed through her with more ardor than she could ever remember experiencing. She suddenly very much wished their guests would take their leave, so she could retire into the privacy of the cottage... with her husband._

Killian must have wished for the same thing, for it wasn’t much longer before he declared an end to their discussions, stating Emma needed her rest. After pressing a tender kiss to her cheek, he murmured his request that she adjourn to her bedroom with a promise to join her there once their guests had departed. Now here she was, waiting for her love, with no misguided notions as to what was to occur between them. An occurrence she was both eager and uneasy to experience.

Hoping to distract herself while she waited, and wanting to leave no room for doubt in Killian’s thoughts that she was of the same mind, she undressed down to her shift. Tucking away her wings in the manner Tink had instructed her, her head snapped up when she heard the sharp inhale of breath coming from the doorway. Killian’s eyes raked across her body, made visible by the gentle glow of the morning streaming in through the window behind her, silhouetting her form through the sheer fabric of her shift.

He’d already divested himself of his coat and boots, and his waist coat hung open from the buttons he’d already begun to unfasten. When his eyes finally trailed up to meet hers there was a burning within them, a hunger so intense it prompted him forward without so much as a word. His arms wrapped around her, one hand fisted the fabric at her back while the other wove itself through her hair as his lips claimed hers with gentle urgency. Though no less exhilarating than their previous kisses, Emma felt more bold and confident with herself this time and began sliding her hands up Killian’s chest with the intention of slipping the waist coat from his shoulders.

A deep moan reverberated from the back of Killian’s throat, and he offered his compliance in shedding the garment before seeking out a path down her neck with his mouth while rucking up her shift to her waist. Pulling back he gazed down at her, the blacks of his eyes blown wide with a desire she never thought anyone would ever hold for her.

“Are you certain, my love?”

Her reply was to simply stretch her arms above her head, allowing him to lift the shift from her body before tossing it aside.

“So bloody beautiful you are,” he whispered, guiding her to the bed.

“Will it... hurt?” she asked, following his lead and settling on the soft blankets as he set about removing his remaining garments.

“I’ll do all that I can to ensure it doesn’t,” he promised.

Emma watched, breathless as the gossamer thin blouse was stripped from his torso, revealing a lush expanse of dark hair upon his chest. Her pulse fluttered wildly, as did the butterflies in her belly when his trousers joined the other clothes on the floor, leaving him bare before her. Uncertainty and inexperience caught at the back of her throat and she swallowed hard past both before uttering, “And what do I do?”

The bed dipped as he took his place beside her, a smile at his lips while he caressed her cheek. “Relax, my love,” he soothed in a soft purr. “Simply lie back and allow me the honor of pleasuring you.”

His lips found hers once more, their tongues delighting in one another’s before his began to make its way down her body, accompanied by his lips and teeth. Grazing along her collar bone, lavishing special attention to the rosey buds of her breasts, and skimming along the side of her hip as he repositioned himself, leaving a blaze upon her skin in his wake. Urging her tentative legs apart with the gentle nudge of his horns brushing along her inner thigh, his mouth made its way to their juncture, sending a rush of luxury over her entire body.

Her hips jerked when the tip of his tongue teased an overly sensitive area of flesh, and his hand splayed across her abdomen to keep her still during his ministrations. Fisted sheets were balled within her hands while breathy moans fell from her lips. The decadence of each flick and swirl of his tongue made sparks skitter across her skin, and her breath left her completely when she felt it slide down and began thrusting itself within her.

Too much. It was all becoming too much. She released her fisted hold of the bed linens and reached down to run her hands through his hair. His tongue moved from her opening back to that magical spot he’d lavished attention on at the outset, and the fluttering sensation he now employed against it had Emma arching off the mattress. Without thought, she wrapped her hands around the horns atop his head, holding onto them, first as a life line, and then as a means by which to navigate the growing swells of ecstasy cresting within her. Waves of bliss crashed over her, sweeping her away on a current of rapture until she felt as if she were floating on a sea of euphoria with her lovers name echoing from her lips.

Reversing the trek he’d made earlier Killian moved up her body, sending pleasurable tremors through her as his lips brushed over her along the way. “How do you feel, my darling?”

“I… I have no words to describe it,” Emma answered breathlessly, a small gasp leaving her when he began to nibble at the tender flesh of her ear.

“You enjoyed yourself?” he asked, though by the simmering tone of self satisfaction underpinning his words, Emma deduced he already knew the answer.

“Thoroughly.”

“Not quite,” he countered seductively against her ear. “I do not believe I have thoroughly ravished my wife just yet.” A roll of his hips made evident the means by which such ravishment would be obtained. The heaviness of his manhood, warm and rigid, slid along the folds of her femininity, pulling sounds of indecency from them both. Killian’s face hovered over hers, a lazy smile coaxing the edges of his mouth as he teased, “And you may have to find something else to hold on to this time.”

“I’m sorry if I was too rough with your horns.” A fresh heat bloomed over her cheeks, embarrassment over her wanton behavior pulling her gaze from his as she turned her head shyly away.

“Never apologize for that, my love.” With a reverent press of his fingertips to her cheek, he enticed her eyes to meet his once more, imparting, “You’ve no idea what your touch does to me, especially there.” Offering proof to his words he repeated the languid motion of his hips. His eyes fluttered shut and the muscle in his jaw flickered with impatience as his length continued to glide through the wetness still gathered at her entrance.

“Show me,” Emma implored, brushing away the wisps of hair that had fallen over his forehead before running her fingers over the rough ribbed surface of one of his horns.

“As you wish,” he groaned.

Emma expected him to surge forward, to drive himself into that intimate place between her thighs, claiming her for his own. Instead, he reached down and began stroking her gently before slipping a finger into her. The intrusion, though not unpleasant, had her instinctually tensing around him.

“Breathe, my love,” Killian encouraged. “Relax and simply bask in how good I can make you feel.”

Emma released a shaky breath and focused on heeding her husband’s words. Soon a second, then a third finger joined the first, and Emma found herself moving her hips in time with their rhythm.

“Touch yourself, Emma,” Killian instructed in a sultry but strained tone. “Let me watch while you tease your perfect breasts and those rosy buds between your fingertips.”

Emma did as Killian suggested, and any awkwardness she might have felt was quickly forgotten when her touch combined with his sent her to a new height of pleasurable anticipation.

“That’s it, love,” Killian praised. “Don’t stop.”

Killian removed his fingers and a whimper fell from Emma’s lips at the hollow feeling they left behind. The whimper became a gasping moan when those fingers found the bundle of sensitive flesh, and the overwhelming barrage of sensation left her oblivious to the rest of Killian’s movement until she felt his member push slowly into her. Little by little he eased the ebb and flow of his movements further into her without relinquishing the ministrations of his fingers, only sheathing himself fully when a second burst of rapture carried her away.

“You’re exquisite when you fall apart, my darling. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my whole long life.”

If any further utterances left Killian’s lips, Emma was not cognizant of them. Her attentions were otherwise occupied by the fullness she felt at having him joined to her, the rhythm of their bodies as they moved together, and the quivering (which she attributed to an altogether different kind of magic than her own) building once again within those deep recesses of her core. Emma found herself falling once more. Killian’s pace quickened, making the intensity of the sensation more extraordinary than the previous pleasures he’d provided her, but she remained lucid enough to experience the beauty he’d spoken of when she watched the grips of ecstasy take hold of her love as he spent himself within her.

The caress of sunlight streaming in through the window mixed with the gentle traces of fingertips over one another’s bodies as Emma and Killian remained wrapped in each other’s arms. Quietly they exchanged words of love and adoration, making plans for the future with discussions of realm unification and how to bring order to the chaos, ensuring a peaceful and prosperous existence for all. They knew it would not be easy. Too many prejudices, too much distrust, and old wounds that had never properly healed would most assuredly reveal the festering pain left in the wake of the Enchanted war and the Schism. But despite the challenges that lay before them, Killian assured Emma that if anyone could bring harmony and balance to the realms, it was the bloody brilliant, beautiful, and amazing woman currently held in his embrace.

And he was right. For there was indeed more than just a little _Enchanted_ in his Swan. Enough to enchant, beguile, and charm Mortals and their kind alike. That is not to say they did not face trials or adversities, but wherever Emma’s diplomacy could not achieve resolution - as it had failed to do with the village elders, Killian’s might proved an effective deterrent to any potential threat or conflict.

Eventually, they did relocate to the castle by the sea, retaining the cottage - with its briar hedge protecting their haven - despite the strained relationship they shared with their neighbors. When the sovereigns grew weary of court, they would retire for a time to the forest cottage. When they grew restless of both their Enchanted responsibilities and Mortal treaties they escaped to the sea, both basking in their shared connection to the waves.

“The winds seem to be in our favor.” Killian wrapped his arms around her from behind, joining her at her perch on the bow. “I can always change that should you wish to delay our return,” he purred in her ear, nuzzling his face in her hair in an attempt to kiss the back of her neck.

“I’m not sure our little one will hold out for such a delay,” Emma said while running her hands over the rotund shape of her expectant belly. “And you will be the one to fend off Tink’s ire if we arrive _after_ our child has made their way into the world.”

“Aye,” he sighed. “Though I would gladly face her temper if it meant keeping our first days with our wee one private, without the realms curiosities nosing in.”

“Then let us make way to the cottage once we make port,” she suggested. “It lies within our kingdom, which will quell Tink’s concerns, but will offer us the privacy we seek for the intimacy of welcoming our child.”

Killian turned her in his arms until she faced him, and reached up to remove an errant strand of hair from her face. “Would that please you, my love? Welcoming our child at the cottage?”

Emma breathed in the briny air, feeling it dance and flirt with the quivering of her magic that recognized the element it represented. While she always enjoyed the time she spent with the waves, discovering deeper layers of connection she held with the waters of the realm, the primary foundation of her magic was with the earth. Too much time away from the soil always made her feel adrift, and with the impending arrival of her and Killian’s child, she’d never felt more desperate for the grounding her cottage garden could provide.

“Yes. It would please me greatly.”

“Who am I to deny my love that which will please her?” Killian flicked his wrist and a sudden gust filled the sails, lurching the ship forward in greater haste. Placing his hand to Emma’s abdomen, he cooed, “Do you hear that, little love? You must wait until we arrive at the cottage before making your appearance.”

“They will,” Emma replied assuredly.

“Quite certain, are we?”

“I am.” Emma smiled up at him. “Because love always awaits me at the cottage.”

The End


End file.
